b. 292. 



aO OE3SiK 




^ To l\N • V^ • 1, oV£ L L • Co7APA>rY^ 




t CLOTH BnninrO % ttil« vvtwntM k« «HilN4 frtm m^ NttwtlUr «f Mwt4<Nt«r« »dii lft<i»r 



LOVELL'S LIBRARY.-CATALOGUE. 



1. nyperion, by E. W, Longfellow. .20 

2. Outre-Mer, by H. W. Longfellow. 20 

3. The Happy Loy, by BjOrueion 10 

4. Arne, by BjOrnson 10 

5. Prankonsteiu, by Mrs. Shelley... iO 

6. The Last of the Mohicans SO 

7. Ciytie, by Joseph Hatton. . . . . .20 

8. The Moougtone, by ' ollice,P'tLlO 

9. TheMoiustone, by Collins, P'tll. 10 

10. Oliver Twitit, by Charles Dickens. 20 

11. The Coming Race, by Lytton 10 

13. Leila, by Lord Lytton .10 

13. The Three Spaniards, by Walker. 20 

14. ThcTiicksof the GreeKbUnveiled.20 

15. L'.\bb6 Constant in, bv Ha)evy..20 

16. Freckles, bvK.F, Pedcliff.. ..20 

17. The Dark Colleen, by IJan iott Jay.20 
lj>. Th.-y Were Mnai d! by Walter 

Bezant and Jiinicrf Rice 10 

19 Se<'lc','rsafi,er God, by F rrar 20 

Si), 'i he Spanish Kun. liv DcQinnccy.lO 

21. The (irjen Mountaia Boys '-iO 

Hi. Pleurette, by Eu<j;f'ne Scribe 20 

23. Second Thoiitthts, by "l:;roti<!;hton.CO 

24. The 1\e^" : < .^ .i. n, by Collins.. 20 

25. Divorce • ?t I ee 20 

26. Life of ^ by Henley.. 20 

27. Social i;, ;..,.-, ..v Slrs.Saville.lS 

28. Single Hcari, and Double Face.. 10 

29. Lone, by Carl Detlef 20 

80. Vice Verna, by F. Anptey 20 

8J. Ernest Mai travr.<», by T ordLytton20 
82, The Haunted H(mse and Caldorou 

the Courtier, by Lord Lytton.. 10 
33. John Halifax, by Uifin Mulock. ..20 

S4. 8i'0 Leagues on the Amazon 10 

^l5. The Cryptogram, by Jules Verne. 10 

36. Life ofMarion. by Horry 20 

37. Paul and Viririnia 10 

38. Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens. .2) 
89. The Hermits, by Kinpsley 20 

40. An Adventure in Thule, and Mar- 

riflire of Moira Fergus, Black .10 

41. A Warrifisein liitrhLife 20 

42. Robm, by Mr.-?. Purr 20 

43. Two on a Tower, byThos Hardy.20 
4,4 Rfisselas, by Samuel Johnson 10 

45. Alice.; or, the Myt^teries, beinsf 

. Part IL of Frnest Maltravir8..20 

46. Duke of Kandos, by A. Mathey...20 

47. Baron IVtunchailsen. ; TO 

48. A Princet^a of Thule, by Black.. 20 

49. The Seen tDfeepMtch.by Grant, 20 
M. Early Days of Christianity, by 

Canon Farrar, D D , Part I ?0 

Early Days of Christian! tv , Pt. 11.20 

51. Vicar of Wakefield, by Goldsmith. 10 

52. Progress and Poverty, by Henry 

George... 20 

53. The Spy, by Cooper 20 

54. Ea«t Lynne, by Tvlrs. Wood... 20 
b^. A Strange Story, by Lord Lytton... 20 
56. Adam Bc.le, by Eliot, Parti 15 

Adam Pede, Part II . .15 

£7. The Golden Shaft, by Gibbon. . . .20 
63, Portia, by The Duchess. .. ......20 

59. Last Days of Pompeii, by Lytton. .20 

60. The Two Duchee.'^es, by Mathey. .20 

61. Tom Brown'8 School Days 20 



C2. The Wooing O't, by Mrs. Alex- 
ander, Parti 15 

The Wooing O't. Partll 18 

63. The Vendetta, by Balzac...... 90 

64. Hypatia,byt has.King^ley.P'tr.lJ 
Hj patia by Kingsley, Part IL . . . 15 

65. Selma, by Mrs. J. U. Smith 16 

66. Margaret and hyr Brideiemaids. .20 
. 67. Hor.eShoeRobinton, PartI....16 

Horee Shoe Robinson, Part II. . .16 

68. Gulliver's Travels, by Swift..... 20 

69. Amo« Barton, by Qeoige Eliot.., 10 

70. The Berber, by W. E. Mayo 20 

7L Silas Mamer, by George Eliot. . .10 

72. The Queen of the County 20 

73. Life of Cromwell, by Hood. ..18 
74 Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte, 20 

75. Child's History of England 20 

70. Molly Bawn, by The Dncheee. . .20 

77. Pill n^ by William BergsOe 15 

78. Phyllis, by The DucheeH 20 

79. Romola, by Geo. Eliot, Part I. . . 15 
Roiijola, by Geo. Eliot, Part II. J 5 

80. Science in Short Chapters 20 

81. Zanoni, by Lord Lytton 20 

82. A Daugiiter of Heth 20 

83. The Right and Wrong TJpes of 

the Bible, )i. Heber Newton... 20 

84. Night and Morninc Pt. 1 15 

Night an'ti Morning. Part II 15 

8.^ Shandon Bells, by Wm. Black.. 20 

86. Monica, by the Duchess 10 

H7, Heart and Science, by Collins. . .20 

88. The Qolden Calf, by Braddou. . .20 

89. The Dean's Daughter. 80 

90. Mrs. Geoffrey, by The Duchess. .20 

91. Pickwick Papers, Part 1 20 

Pickwick Papers, Part II ...20 

99. Airy, Fairy Lilian, The Duchess 20 

93. McLeod of Dare, by Wm. Black 20 

94. Tempest Tossed, by Tilton.P't I 20 
Tempest ToBr:ed,by Tilton, P'tllSO 

05. Letters from High Latitudes, by 
Lord Dufiferin 20 

96. C'dfon FIe\ce, by Lucy 20 

97. I^idui and Ceylon, by E. HasckeL .20 

98. The Gypsy Queen 20 

99. The Admiral's Ward 20 

IDO, Mrh'port.byE.L. Bvnner,P'tL.16 

Nimport, by E. L. Bynner, Pt II . 18 

101. liarry Holbrooke 20 

102. Tritons, by E. L. Bynner, P't I. . . 15 
Tritons, by E. L. Bynner, P t II . . IS 

103. Let Nothing You Dismay, by 

Walter Besant 10 

104. Lady Audley's Secret, by Miee 

M. E. Braddou: 80 

105. Woman's Place To-day, by Mrs. 

Lillie'Devereui Blake SO 

106. Dunallan, by Kennedy, Part I. . .15 
Dunallan, by Kennedy, Part IL . 16 

107. Eouselteepin^ and Home-mak- 

ing, by Marion Harland. 15 

108. NoNewThing.by W. E. Norri8.20 

109. The Spoopendyke Paper* 20 

110. False Hopes, by Gold win Smith. 15 

111. Labor and Capital 20 

112. Wanda, byOuida, Partl 16 

Wanda, by Ouida, Part II 15 




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Is pleasantly perfumf'd ; and neither when using or afterwards is thcfslighl 
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JUST PUBLISHED. 

"BEYOND THE SUNRISE:" 

Observations by Two Travelers. 

1 Yol. 12mo, cloth, gilt, -.---- $1.00j 
1 vo]. 12mo, paper, - .50' 

Also in LoTell's Library, No. 169, . - - - /Z0\ 



Tlib subjects treated in this volume, wliicli is the pro- 
xluction of two well kuowu American writers, are Psychology, 
Clairvoyance and Theosophy. In the form of sketches theyt 
outline tl^e philosophy of Psychology, and relate phenomena 
wholly outside of, and apart from Spiritualism, with which it 
is associated in the popular mind in this country. These twa' 
writers have much to say regarding Occultism and Theosophy; 
and, in a word, discuss the science of the soul in all its bear- 
ings. No more interesting book has ever appeared on theset 
subjects. Much personal experience, which is always interest 
ing, is given in its pages; and the authors who have chosen 
to be anonymous, have had remarkable results in their study^ 
of Spiritualism and Clairvoyancy, and are adepts in Psycho 
logical researches. 

From all the varied avenues in which they have worked 
so perseveringly, they have brought together a higlily grati- 
fying mass of material. The volume is one in which agnostics, 
spiritualists, orthodox and scientific minds generally, Avill b<( 
deeply interested ; and it is written in so earnest and frank a 
spirit, and in language so clear and graceful, that " Beyond 
the Sunrise," will win a welcome in every household. It wiU 
give good cheer and inspiration wherever it is read. 

Sent free, by post, on receipt of price. 

^P ^- LOVELL CO., PuTDlishers, 

^^ and 16 Vesey Street, New ^.jrk. 



T H E 

7-; 



IRISH SKETCH BOOK 



WILLIAM MAKEPEAtE THACKERAY. 



NEW YORK: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street. 






THE LiatLAHY 
or C OWO KE3S 



TO 

CHARLES LEVER, Esq.. 

OF TEMPLEOGUE HOUSE, NEAR DUBLIN. 

My Dear Lever, 

Harry Lorrequer needs no complimenting in 
a dedication ; and I would not venture to inscribe this volume 
to the Editor of the " Dublin University Magazine," who, I 
fear, must disapprove of a great deal which it contains. 

But allow me to dedicate my little book to a good Irish- 
man (the hearty charity of whose visionary red-coats, some 
substantial personages in black might imitate to advantage), 
and to a friend from whom I have received a hundred acts of 
kindness and cordial hospitality. 

Laying aside for a moment the travelling-title of Mr. Tit- 
marsh, let me acknowledge these favors in my own name, and 
subscribe myself, my dear Lever, 

Most sincerely and gratefully yours, 

W. M. THACKERAY. 
London^ April 27, 1843. 



(2S3) 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 



CHAPTER I. 

A SUMMER DAY IN DUBLIN, OR THERE AND THEREABOUTS. 

The coach that brings the passenger by wood and moun- 
tain, by brawling waterfall and gloomy plain, by the lonely lake 
of Festiniog and across the swinging world's wonder of a 
Menai Bridge, through dismal Anglesea to dismal Holyhead — 
the Birmingham mail, manages matters so cleverly, that after 
ten hours' ride the traveller is thrust incontinently on board 
the packet, and the steward says there's no use in providing 
dinner on board, because the passage is so short. 

That is true : but why not give us half an hour on shore ? 
Ten hours spent on a coach-box render the dinner question 
one of extreme importance ; and as the packet reaches Kings- 
town at midnight, when all the world is asleep, the inn-larders 
locked up, and the cook in bed ; and as the mail is not landed 
until five in the morning (at which hour the passengers are 
considerately awakened by great stamping and shouting over- 
head), might not " Lord Lowther " give us one little half hour ? 
Even the steward agreed that it was a useless and atrocious 
tyranny ; and, indeed, after a little demur, produced a half- 
dozen of fried eggs, a feeble makeshift for a dinner. 

Our passage across from the Head was made in a rain so 
pouring and steady, that sea and coast were entirely hidden 
from us, and one could see very little beyond the glowing tip 
of the cigar which remained alight nobly in spite of the weather. 
Then the gallant exertions of that fiery spirit were over for* 

(285) 



,^-5 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

ev^r, ana Durning bravely, to the end it had breathed its last 
in doing its master service, all became black and cheerless 
around ; the passengers had dropped off one by one, preferring 
to be dry and ill below rather than wet and squeamish above : 
even the mate, with his gold-laced cap (who is so astonishingly 
like Mr. Charles Dickens that he might pass for that gentle- 
man) — even the mate said he would go to his cabin and turn 
in. So there remained nothing for it but to do as all the world 
had done. 

Hence it was impossible to institute the comparison between 
the Bay of Naples and that of Dublin (the Bee of Naples the 
former is sometimes called in this country), where I have heard 
the likeness asserted in a great number of societies and con- 
versations. But how could one see the Bay of Dublin in the 
dark ? and how, supposing one could see it, should a person 
behave who has never seen the Bay of Naples .'' It is but to 
take the similarity for granted, and remain in bed till morning. 

When everybody was awakened at five o'clock by the noise 
made upon the removal of the mail-bags, there was heard a 
cheerless dribbling and pattering overhead, which led one to 
wait still further until the rain should cease. At length the 
steward said the last boat was going ashore, and receiving 
half a crown for his own service (which was the regular tariff), 
intimated likewise that it was the custom for gentlemen to 
compliment the stewardess with a shilling, which ceremony 
was also complied with. No doubt she is an amiable woman, 
and deserves any sum of money. As for inquiring whether she 
merited it or not in this instance, that surely is quite unfair. 
A traveller who stops to inquire the deserts of every individual 
claimant of a shilling on his road, had best stay quiet at home. 
If we only got what we deserved — heaven save us ! — many of 
us might whistle for a dinner. 

A long pier, with a steamer or two at hand, and a few 
small vessels lying on either side of the jetty ; a town irregu- 
larly built, with many handsome terraces, some churches, and 
showy-looking hotels ; a few people straggling on the beach ; 
two or three cars at the railroad station, which runs along the 
shore as far as Dublin ; the sea stretching interminably eastward ; 
to the north of the Hill of Howth, lying gray behind the mist ; 
and, directly under his feet, upon the wet, black, shining, 
slippery deck, an agreeable reflection of his own legs, dis- 
appearing seemingly in the direction of the cabin from which 
he issues : are the sights which a traveller may remark on 
coming on deck at Kingstown pier on a wet morning — let us 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 287 

say on an average morning; for according to the statement of 
well-informed natives, the Irish day is more often rainy than 
otherwise. A hideous obelisk, stuck upon four fat balls, and 
surmounted with a crown on a cushion (the latter were no bad 
emblems perhaps of the monarch in whose honor they were 
raised), commemorates the sacred spot at which George IV. 
quitted Ireland. You are landed here from the steamer ; and 
a carman, who is dawdling in the neighborhood, with a straw 
in his mouth, comes leisurely up to ask whether you will go to 
Dublin ? Is it natural indolence, or the effect of despair be- 
cause of the neighboring railroad, which renders him so indif- 
ferent? He does not even take the straw out of his mouth as 
he proposes the question — he seems quite careless as to the 
answer. 

He said he would take me to Dublin " in three quarthers," 
as soon as we began a parley. As to the fare, he would not 
hear of it — he said he would leave it to my honor ; he would 
take me for nothing. Was it possible to refuse such a genteel 
offer ? The times are very much changed since those described 
by the facetious Jack Hinton, when the carmen tossed up for 
the passenger, and those who won him took him ; for the 
remaining cars on the stand did not seem to take the least 
interest in the bargain, or to offer to overdrive or underbid 
their comrade in any way. 

Before that day, so memorable for joy and sorrow, for 
rapture at receiving its monarch and tearful grief at losing him, 
when George IV. came and left the maritime resort of the citi- 
zens of Dublin, it bore a less genteel name than that which it 
owns at present, and was called Dunleary. After that glorious 
event Dunleary disdained to be Dunleary any longer, and 
became Kingstown henceforward and forever. Numerous ter- 
races and pleasure-houses have been built in the place — they 
stietch row after row along the banks of the sea, and rise one 
above another on the hill. The rents of these houses are said 
to be very high ; the Dublin citizens crowd into them in sum- 
mer ; and a great source of pleasure and comfort must it be to 
them to have the fresh sea-breezes and prospects so near to 
the metropolis. 

The better sort of houses are handsome and spacious ; but 
the fashionable quarter is yet in an unfinished state, for enter- 
prising architects are always beginning new roads, rows and 
terraces : nor are those already built by any means complete. 
Beside the aristocratic part of the town is a commercial one, 
and nearer to Dublin stretch lines of low cottages which have 



288 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

not a Kingstown look at all, but are evidently of the Dunleary 
period. It is quite curious to see in the streets where the shops 
are, how often the painter of the signboards begins with big 
letters, and ends, for want of space, with small ; and the- English- 
man accustomed to the thriving neatness and regularity which 
characterize towns great and small in his own country, can't 
fail to notice the differerice here. The houses have a battered, 
rakish look, and seem going to ruin before their time. As sea- 
men of all nations come hither who have made no vow of 
temperance, there are plenty of liquor shops still, and shabby 
cigar shojDS, and shabby milliners' and tailors' with fly-blown 
prints of old fashions. The bakers and apothecaries make a 
great brag of their calling, and you see medical hall, or pub- 
lic BAKERY, BALLYRAGGET FLOUR STORE (or whatever the name 
may be), pompously inscribed over very humble tenements. 
Some comfortable grocers' and butchers' shops, and numbers 
of shabby sauntering people, the younger part of whom are 
barelegged and bareheaded, make up the rest of the picture 
which the stranger sees as his car goes jingling through the 
street. 

After the town come the suburbs of pleasure-houses ; low, 
one-storied cottages for the most part : some neat and fresh, 
some that have passed away from the genteel state altogether, 
and exhibit downright poverty ; some in a state of transition, 
with broken windows and pretty romantic names upon tumble- 
down gates. Who lives in them ? One fancies that the chairs 
and tables inside are broken, that the teapot on the break- 
fast-table has no spout, and the table-cloth is ragged and sloppy ; 
that the lady of the house is in dubious curl-papers, and the 
gentleman, with an imperial to his chin, wears a flaring dressing- 
gown all ragged at the elbows. 

To be sure, a traveller who in ten minutes can see not only 
the outsides of houses, but the interiors of the same, must have 
remarkably keen sight ; and it is early yet to speculate. It is 
clear, however, that these are pleasure-houses for a certain class ; 
and looking at the houses, one can't but fancy the inhabitants 
resemble them somewhat. The car, on its road to Dublin, 
passes by numbers of these — by more shabbiness than a Lon- 
doner will see in the course of his home peregrinations for a 
year. 

The capabilities of the country, however, are very great, and 
in many instances have been taken advantage of: for you see, 
besides the misery, numerous handsome houses and parks 
along the road, having fine lawns and woods ; and the sea is in 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



289 



our view at a quarter of an hour's ride from Dublin. It is the 
continual appearance of this sort of wealth wJiich makes the 
poverty more striking : and thus between the two (for there is 
no vacant space of fields between Kingstown and Dublin) the 
car reaches the city. There is but little commerce on this 
road, which was also in extremely bad repair. It is neglected 
for the sake of its thriving neighbor the railroad ; on which a 
dozen pretty little stations accommodate the inhabitants of the 
various villages through which we pass. 

'llie entrance to the capital is very handsome. There is no 
bustle and throng of carriages, as in London ; but you pass by 
numerous rows of neat houses, fronted with gardens and 
adorned with all sorts of gay-looking creepers. Pretty market- 
gardens, with trim beds of plants and shining glass-houses, give 
the suburbs a riante and cheerful look \ and, passing under the 
arch of the railway, we are in the city itself. Hence you come 
upon several old-fashioned, well-built, airy, stately streets, and 
through Fitzwilliam Square, a noble place, the garden of which 
is full of flowers and foliage. The leaves are green, and not 
tlack as in similar places in London ; the red brick houses tall 
and handsome. Presently the car stops before an extremely 
big red house, in that extremely large square, Stephen's Green, 
where Mr. O'Connell says there is one day or other to be a 
Parliament. There is room enough for that, or for any other 
edifice which fancy or patriotism may have a mind to erect, for 
part of one of the sides of the square is not yet built, and you 
see the fields and the country beyond. 



This then is the chief city of the aliens. — The hotel to which 
I had been directed is a respectable old edifice, much fre- 
quented by families from the country, and where the solitary 
traveller may likewise find society : for he may either use the 
" Shelburne " as an hotel or a boarding-house, in which latter 
case he is comfortably accommodated at the very moderate 
daily charge of six-and-eightpence. For this charge a copious 
breakfast is provided for him in the coffee-room, a perpetual 
luncheon is likewise there spread, a plentiful dinner is ready at 
six o'clock : after which there is a drawing-room and a rubber 
of whist, with tay and coffee and cakes in plenty to satisfy the 
largest appetite. The hotel is majestically conducted by clerks 
and other officers ; the landlord himself does not appear, after 
the honest, comfortable English fashion, but lives in a private 

19 



290 



inn. iKi^yM o>yiZsyc// jtsuuA. 



mansion hard by, where his name may be read inscribed on a 
brass-plate, like that of any other private gentleman. 

A woman melodiously crying " Dublin Bay herrings " passed 
just as we came up to the door, and as that fish is famous 
throughout Europe, I seized the earliest opportunity and ordered 
a broiled one for breakfast. It merits all its reputation : and in 
this respect I should think the Bay of Dublin is far superior to 
its rival of Naples. Are there any herrings in Naples Bay 1 
Dolphins there may be; and Mount Vesuvius, to be sure, is 
bigger than even the Hill of Howth ; but a dolphin is better in 
a sonnet than at a breakfast, and what poet is there that, at 
certain periods of the day, would hesitate in his choice between 
the two 1 

With this famous broiled herring the morning papers are 
served up ; and a great part of these, too, gives opportunity of 
reflection to the new-comer, and shows him how different this 
country is from his own. Some hundred years hence, when 
students want to inform themselves of the history of the present 
day, and refer to files of Times and Chronicle for the purpose, I 
think it is possible that they will consult, not so much those 
luminous and philosophical leading-articles which call our at- 
tention at present both by the majesty of their eloquence and 
the largeness of their type, but that they will turn to those parts 
of the journals into which information is squeezed in the small- 
est possible print : to the advertisements, namely, the law and 
police reports, and to the instructive narratives supplied by that 
ill-used body of men who transcribe knowledge at the rate of a 
penny a line. 

The papers before me {The Morning Register^ Liberal and 
Roman Catholic, Saimderis News-Letter^ neutral and Conser- 
vative,) give a lively picture of the movement of city and coun- 
try on this present fourth day of July, 1842, and the English- 
man can scarcely fail, as he reads them, to note many small 
points of difference existing between his own country and this. 
How do the Irish amuse themselves in the capital } The love 
for thea,trical exhibitions is evidently not very great. Theatre 
Royal^Miss Kemble and the Sonnambula, an Anglo-Italian 
importation. Theatre Royal, Abbey Street — The Temple of 
Magic and the Wizard, last week. Adelphi Theatre, Great 
Brunswick Street — The Original Seven Lancashire Bell-ringers : 
a delicious excitement indeed ! Portobello Gardens — " The 
LAST ERUPTION BUT SIX," says the advertisement in capitals. 
And, finally, *' Miss Hayes will give her first and farewell concert 
at the Rotunda, previous to leaving her native country.*' Only 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 291 

one instance of Irish talent do we read of, and that, in a despond- 
ing tone, announces its intention of quitting its native country. 
All ihe rest of the pleasures of the evening are importations 
from cockney-land. The Sonnambula from Covent Garden, 
the Wizard from the Strand, the seven Lancashire Bell-ringers 
from Islington, or the City Road, no doubt ; and so for " The 
last Eruption but Six," it has erumped near the " Elephant and 
Castle" any time these two years, until the cockneys would 
wonder at it no longer. 

The commercial advertisements are but few — a few horses 
and cars for sale ; some flaming announcements of insurance 
companies; some "emporiums" of Scotch tweeds and English 
broadcloths ; an auction for damaged sugar ; and an estate or 
two for sale. They lie in the columns languidly, and at their 
ease as it were : how different from the throng, and squeeze 
and bustle of the commercial part of a London paper, where 
every man (except Mr, George Robins) states his case as briefly 
as possible, because thousands more are to be heard besides 
himself, and as if he had no time for talking ! 

The most active advertisers are the schoolmasters. It is 
now the happy time of the Midsummer holidays ; and the 
pedagogues make wonderful attempts to encourage parents, 
and to attract fresh pupils for the ensuing half-year. Of all 
these announcements that of Madame Shanahan (a delightful 
name) is perhaps the most brilliant. " To Parents and Guar- 
dians. — Paris. — Such parents and guardians as may wish to 
entrust their children for education in its fullest extent to 
Madame Shanahan, ca7i have the advantage of being conducted 
to Paris by her brother, the Rev. J. P. O'Reilly, of Church 
Street Chapel : " which admirable arrangement carries the 
parents to Paris and leaves the children in Dublin. Ah, 
Madame, you may take a French title ; but your heart is still 
in your country, and you are to ihe. fullest extent an Irishwoman 
still ! 

Fond legends are to be found in Irish books regarding 
places where you may now see a round tower and a little old 
chapel, twelve feet square, where famous universities are once 
said to have stood, and which have accommodated myriads of 
students. Mrs. Hall mentions Glendalough, in Wicklow, as 
one of these places of learning ; nor can the fact be questioned, 
as the universities existed hundreds of years since, and no sort 
of records are left regarding them. A century hence some 
antiquary may light upon a Dublin paper, and from marvellous 
calculations regarding the state of education in the country. 



2^2 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

For instance, at Bective House Seminary, conducted by Dr. J. 
L. Burke, ex-Scholar T.C.D., no less than tivo hundred and three 
young gentlemen took prizes at the Midsummer examina'tion : 
nay, some of the most meritorious carried off a dozen premiums 
apiece. A Dr. Delamere, ex-Scholar T.C.D., distributed three 
hundred and twenty rewards to his young friends : and if \ve 
allow that one lad in twenty is a prizeman, it is clear that there 
must be six thousand four hundred and forty youths under the 
Doctor's care. 

Other schools are advertised in the same journals, each 
with its hundred of prize-bearers ; and if other schools are ad- 
vertised, how many more must there be in the country which 
are not advertised ! There must be hundreds of thousands of 
prizemen, millions of scholars ; besides national-schools, hedge- 
schools, infant-schools, and the like. The English reader will 
see the accuracy of the calculation. 

In the Mornifig Register^ the Englishman will find something 
to the full as curious and startling to him : you read gravely 
in the English language how the Bishop of Aureliopolis has 
just been consecrated ; and that the distinction has been con- 
ferred upon him by — the Holy Pontiff ! — the Pope of Rome, 
by all that is holy ! Such an announcement sounds quite strange 
in English^ and in your own country, as it were : or isn't it 
your own country ? Suppose the Archbishop of Canterbury 
were to send over a clergyman to Rome, and consecrate him 
Bishop of the Palatine or the Suburra, I wonder how his Ho- 
liness would like that ? 

There is a report of Dr. Miley's sermon upon the occasion 
of the new bishop's consecration ; and the Register happily 
lauds the discourse for its " refined and fervent eloquence." 
The Doctor salutes the Lord Bishop of Aureliopolis on his 
admission among the " Princes of the Sanctuary," gives a blow 
en passa?it at the Established Church, whereof the revenues, he 
elegantly says, " might excite the zeal of Dives or P^picurus to 
become a bishop," and having vented his sly wrath upon the 
" courtly artifice and intrigue " of the Bench, proceeds to make 
the most outrageous comparisons with regard to my Lord of 
Aureliopolis ; his virtues, his sincerity, and the severe privations 
and persecutions which acceptance of the episcopal office entails 
upon him. 

"That very evening," says the ^^^/i-/<^r, "the new bishop 
entertained at dinner, in the chapel-house, a select number of 
friends ; amongst whom were the officiating prelates and 
clergymen who assisted in the ceremonies of the day. The 



THE IRJSH SKETCH BOOK. 293 

repast was provided by Mr. Jude, of Grafton Street, and was 
served up in a style of elegance and comfort that did great 
honor to that gentleman's character as a restaurateur. The 
wines were of the richest and rarest quality. It may be truly 
said to have been an entertainment where the feast of reason 
and the flow of soul predominated. The company broke up at 
nine." 

And so my lord is scarcely out of chapel but his privations 
begin ! Well. Let us hope that, in the course of his episco- 
pacy, he may incur no greater hardships, and that Dr. Miley 
may come to be a bishop too in his time ; when perhaps he 
will have a better opinion of the Bench. 

The ceremony and feelings described are curious, 1 think ; 
and more so perhaps to a person who was in England only 
yesterday, and quitted it just as their Graces, Lordships, and 
Reverences were sitting down to dinner. Among what new 
sights, ideas, customs, does the English traveller find himself 
after that brief six-hours' journey from Holyhead ! 

There is but one part more in the papers to be looked at ; 
and that is the most painful in all. In the law-reports of the 
Tipperary special commission sitting at Clonmel, you read that 
Patrick Byrne is brought up for sentence, for the murder of 
Robert Hall, Esq. : and Chief Justice Doherty says, " Patrick 
Byrne, I will not now recapitulate the circumstances of your 
enormous crime, but guilty as you are of the barbarity of hav- 
ing perpetrated with your hand the foul murder of an unoffend- 
ing old man — barbarous, cowardh^ and cruel as that act was — 
there lives one more guilty man, and that is he whose diaboli- 
cal mind hatched the foul conspiracy of which you were but the 
instrument and the perpetrator. Whoever that may be, I do 
not envy him his protracted existence. He has sent that aged 
gentleman, without one moment's warning, to face his God ; 
but he has done more : he has brought you, unhappy man, with 
more deliberation and more cruelty, to face your G©d, with the 
zveight of that man^ s blood upon you. I have now only to pro- 
nounce the sentence of the law : " — it is the usual sentence, 
with the usual prayer of the judge, that the Lord may have 
mercy upon the convict's soul. 

Timothy Woods, a young man of twenty years of age, is 
then tried for the murder of Michael Laffan. The Attorney- 
General states the case : — On the 19th of May last, two assas- 
sins dragged Laffan from the house of Patrick Cummins, fired 
a pistol-shot at him, and left him dead as they thought. Laffan, 
though mortdly wounded, crawled away after the fall ; when 



2^4 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

the assassins, still seeing him give signs of life, rushed aftei 
him, fractured his scull by blows of a pistol, and left him on a 
dunghill dead. There Laffan's body lay for several hours, and 
nobody dared to touch it. Laffan's widow found the body there 
two hours after the murder, and an inquest was held on the body 
as it lay on the dunghill. Lafian was driver on the lands of 
Kilnertin, which were formerly held by Pat Cummins, the man 
who had the charge of the lands before Laff^an was murdered; the 
latter was dragged out of Cummins's house in the presence of a 
witness who refused to swear to the murderers, and was shot in 
sight of another witness, James Meara, who with other men 
was on the road : when asked whether he cried out, or whether 
he went to assist the deceased, Meara answers, ^'' Indeed I did 
not ; we would not interfere — // 7vas no business of ours / " 

Six more mstances are given of attempts to murder ; on 
which the judge, in passing sentence, comments in the follow- 
ing way : — 

" The Lord Chief Justice addressed the several persons, 
and said — It was now his painful duty to pronounce upon 
them severally and respectively the punishment which the law 
and the court awarded against them for the crimes of which 
they had been convicted. Those crimes were one and all of 
them of no ordinary enormity — they were crimes which, in 
point of morals, involved the atrocious guilt of murder ; 
and if it had pleased God to spare their souls from the 
pollution of that offence, the court could not still shut its 
eyes to the fact, that although death had not ensued in con- 
sequence of the crimes of which they had been found guilty, 
yet it was not owing to their forbearance that such a dreadful 
crime had not been perpetrated. The prisoner, Michael 
Hughes, had been convicted of firing a gun at a person of the 
name of John Ryan (Luke) ; his horse had been killed, and no 
one could say that the balls were not intended for the prosecutor 
himself. The prisoner had fired one shot himself and then 
called on his companion in guilt to discharge another. One of 
these shots killed Ryan's mare, and it was by the mercy of God 
that the life of the prisoner had not become forfeited by his own 
act. The next culprit was John Pound, who was equally guilty 
of the intended outrage perpetrated on the life of an unoffend- 
ing individual — that individual a female, surrounded by her 
little children, five or six in number — with a complete careless- 
ness to the probable consequences, while she and her family 
were going, or had gone, to bed. The contents of a gun were 
discharged through the door, which entered the panel in three 



7 ///; IRISH SA'E Ti '// B OOK. 20 5 

different places. The deaths resulting from this act might have 
been extensive, but it was not a matter of any moment how 
many were deprived of life. The woman had just risen from 
her prayers, preparing herself to sleep under the protection of 
that arm which would shield the child and protect the innocent, 
when she was wounded. As to Cornelius Flynn and Patrick 
Dwyer, they likewise were the subjects of similar imputations 
and similar observations. There was a very slight difference 
between them, but not such as to amount to any real distinction. 
They had gone upon a common, illegal purpose, to the house 
of a respectable individual, for the purpose of interfering with 
the domestic arrangements he thought fit to make. They had 
no sort of right to interfere with the disposition of a man's 
affairs ; and what would be the consequences if the reverse 
were to be held ? No imputation had ever been made upon the 
gentleman whose house was visited, but he was desired to dis- 
miss another, under the pains and penalties of death, although 
that other was not a retained servant, but a friend who had 
come to Mr. Hogan on a visit. Because this visitor used some- 
times to inspect the men at work, the lawless edict issued that 
he should be put away. Good God ! to what extent did the 
prisoners and such misguided men intend to carry out their ob- 
jects ? Where was their dictation to cease ? are they, and those 
in a similar rank, to take upon themselves to regulate how many 
and what men a farmer should take into his employment ? 
Were they to be the judges whether a servant had discharged 
his duty to his principal t or was it because a visitor happened 
to come, that the host should turn him away, under the pains 
and penalties of death } His lordship, after adverting to the 
guilt of the prisoners in this case — the last two persons con- 
victed, Thos. Stapleton and Thos. Gleeson — said their case 
was so recently before the public, that it was sufficient to say 
they were morally guilty of what might be considered wilful and 
deliberate murder. Murder was most awful, because it could 
only be suggested by deliberate malice, and the act of the 
prisoners was the result of that base, malicious, and diabolical 
disposition. What was the cause of resentment against the un- 
fortunate man who had been shot at, and so desperately wound- 
ed ? Why, he had dared to comply with the wishes of a just 
landlord ; and because the landlord, for the benefit of his ten- 
antry, proposed that the farms should be squared, those who 
acquiesced in his wishes were to be equally the victims of the 
assassin. What were the facts in this case ? The two prisoners 
at the bar, Stapleton and Gleeson, sprung out at the man as he 



296 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

was leaving work, placed him on his knees, and without giving 
him a moment of preparation, commenced the work of blood, 
intending deliberately to despatch that unprepared and unoffend^ 
ing individual to eternity. What country was it that thfey lived 
in, in which such crimes could be perpetrated in the open light 
of day ? It was not necessary that deeds of darkness should 
be shrouded in the clouds of night, for the darkness of the deeds 
themselves was considered a sufiicient protection. He (the 
Chief Justice) was not aware of any solitary instance at the 
present commission, to show that the crimes committed were 
the consequences of poverty. Poverty should be no justifica- 
tion, however ; it might be some little palliation, but on no trial 
at this commission did it appear that the crime could be attrib- 
uted to distress. His lordship concluded a most impressive 
address, by sentencing the six prisoners called up to transporta- 
tion for life. 

" The clock was near midnight as the court was cleared, and 
the whole of the proceedings were solemn and impressive in 
the extreme. The commission is likely to prove extremely ben- 
eficial in its results on the future tranquillity of the country." ^ 

I confess, for my part, to that common cant and sickly sen- 
timentality, which, thank God ! is felt by a great number of 
people nowadays, and which leads them to revolt against mur- 
der, whether performed by a ruffian's knife or a hangman's 
rope : whether accompanied with a curse from the thief as he 
blows his victim's brains out, or a prayer from my lord on the 
bench in his wig and black cap. Nay, is all the cant and sickly 
sentimentality on our side, and might not some such charge be 
applied to the admirers of the good old fashion ? Long ere this 
is printed, for instance, Byrne and Woods have been hanged : * 
sent " to face their God," as the Chief Justice says, "with the 
weight of their victim's blood upon them," — a just observation ; 
and remember that it is we who send tJicm. It is true that the 
judge hopes Heaven will have mercy upon their souls ; but are 
such recommendations of particular weight because they ^ome 
from the bench ? Psha ! If we go on killing people without 
giving them time to repent, let us at least give up the cant of 
praying for their souls' salvation. We find a man drowning in 
a well, shut tlie lid upon him, and heartily pray that lie may 
get out. Sin has hold of him, as the two ruffians of Laffan yon- 
der, and we stand aloof, and hope that he may escape. Tet us 

*The two men were executed pursuant to sentence, and both ]")ersisted solemuiy in deny- 
ing their guilt. Tlierc can be no doubt of it ; but it ajipears to be a point of liov.or wiii: 
these unhappy men to make no statement wliicli may incriminate the witnesses who appeare.' 
«n their beliaif and on their part perjured themselves equailyi 



THE TRISlf SKETCH BOOK. 297 

give up this ceremony of condolence, and be honest, like the 
witness, and say, " Let him save himself or not, it's no business 
of ours." * * * Here a waiter, with a very broad, though 
insinuating accent says, " Have you done with the Sandthers^ 
sir ? there's a gentleman waiting for't these two hours." And so 
he- carries off that strange picture of pleasure and pain, trade, 
theatres, schools, courts, churches, life and death, in Ireland, 
which a man may buy for a fourpenny-piece. 



The papers being read, it became my duty to discover the 
town ; and a handsomer town, with fewer people in it, it is im- 
possible to see on a summer's day. In the whole wide square 
of Stephen's Green, I think there were not more than two 
nursery-maids to keep company with the statue of George I., 
who rides on horseback in the middle of the garden, the horse 
having his foot up to trot, as if he wanted to go out of town .too. 
Small troops of dirty children (too poor and dirty to have lodg- 
ings at Kingstown) were squatting here and there upon the 
sunshiny steps, the only clients at the thresholds of the pro- 
fessional gentlemen whose names figure on brass-plates on the 
doors. A stand of lazy carmen, a policeman or two with clink- 
ing boot-heels, a couple of moaning beggars leaning against the 
rails and calling upon the Lord, and a fellow with a toy and 
book stall, where the lives of St. Patrick, Robert Emmett, and 
Lord Edward Fitzgerald may be bought for double their value, 
were all the population of the Green, 

At the door of the Kildare Street Club, I saw eight gentle- 
men looking at tw^o boys playing at leapfrog : at the door of 
the University six lazy porters, in jockey-caps, were sunning 
themselves on a bench — a sort of blue-bottle race; and the 
Bank on the opposite side did not look as if sixpence-worth of 
change had been negotiated there during the day. There was 
a lad pretending to sell umbrellas under the colonnade, almost 
the only instance of trade going on ; and I began to think of 
Juan Fernandez, or Cambridge in the long vacation. In the 
courts of the College, scarce the ghost of a gyp or the shadovv 
of abed-maker. 

In spite of the solitude, the square of the College is a fine 
sight : a large ground, surrounded by buildings of various ages 
and styles, but comfortable, handsome, and in good repair ; a 
modern row of rooms ; a row that has been Elizabethan once ; 
a hall and senate-house, facing each other, of the style of George 



298 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

I. ; and a noble library, with a range of many windows, and a fine 
manly, simple fagade of cut stone. The library was shut. The 
librarian, I suppose, is at the sea-side ; and the only part of the 
establishment which I could see Aras the museum, to which one 
of the jockey-capped porters conducted me, up a wide, dismal 
staircase, (adorned with an old pair of jack-boots, a dusty canoe 
or two, a few helmets, and a South Sea Islander's armor,) 
which passes through a hall hung round with cobwebs (with 
which the blue-bottles are too wise to meddle), into an old 
mouldy room, filled with dingy glass-cases, under which the 
articles of curiosity or science were partially visible. In the 
middle was a very seedy camelopard (the word has grown to be 
English by this time), the straw splitting through his tight old 
skin and the black cobbler's-wax stuffing the dim orifices of his 
eyes. Other beasts formed a pleasing group around him, not 
so tall, but equally mouldy and old. The porter took me round 
to the cases, and told me a great number of fibs concerning 
their contents : there was the harp of Brian Borou, and the 
sword of some one else, and other cheap old gimcracks with 
their corollary of lies. The place would have been a disgrace 
to Don Saltero. I was quite glad to walk out of it, and down 
the dirty staircase again : about the ornaments of which the 
jockey-capped gyp had more figments to tell ; an atrocious one 
(I forget what) relative to the pair of boots ; near which — a fine 
specimen of collegiate ta^te — were the shoes of Mr. O'Brien, 
the Irish giant. If the collection is worth preserving, — and 
indeed the mineralogical specimens look quite as awful as those 
in the British Museum, — one thing is clear, that the rooms are 
worth sweeping. A pail of water costs nothing, a scrubbing- 
brush not much, and a charwoman might be hired for a trifle, 
to keep the room in a decent state of cleanliness. 

Among the curiosities is a mask of the Dean — not the scoffer 
and giber, not the fiery politician, nor the courtier of St. John 
and Harley, equally ready with servility and scorn ; but the 
poor old man, whose great intellect had deserted him, and who 
died old, wild, and sad. The tall forehead is fallen away in a 
ruin, the mouth has settled in a hideous, vacant smile. Well, 
~it was a mercy for Stella that she died first ; it was better that 
she should be killed by his unkindness than by the sight of his 
misery ; which, to such a gentle heart as that, would have been 
harder still to bear. 

The Bank, and other public buildings of Dublin, are justly 
famous. In the former may still be seen the room which was 
the House of Lord^, formerlv, and wliere the Bank directors 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 299 

now sit, under a clean marble image of George III. The 
House of Commons has disappeared, for the accommodation of 
clerks and cashiers. The interior is light, splendid, airy, well- 
furnished, and the outside of the building not less so. The 
Exchange, hard by, is an equally magnificent structure ; but 
the genius of commerce has deserted it, for all its architectural 
beauty. There was nobody inside when I entered but a pert 
statue of George III. in a Roman toga, simpering and turning 
out his toes ; and two dirty children playing, whose hoopsticks 
caused great clattering echoes under the vacant sounding dome. 
The neighborhood is not cheerful, and has a dingy, poverty- 
stricken look. 

Walking towards the river, you have on either side of you, 
at Carlisle Bridge, a ver}^ brilliant and beautiful prospect : the 
Four Courts and their dome to the left, the Custom House and 
its dome to the right ; and in this direction seaward, a consid- 
erable number of vessels are moored, and the quays are black 
and busy with the cargoes discharged from ships. Seamen 
cheering, herring-women bawling, coal-carts loading — the scene 
is animated and lively. Yonder is the famous Corn Exchange ; 
but the Lord Mayor is attending to his duties in Parliament, 
and little of note is going on. I had just passed his lordship's 
mansion in Dawson Street, — a queer old dirty brick-house, 
with dumpy urns at each extremity, and looking as if a storey 
of it had been cut off — a rasee-house. Close at hand, and 
peering over a paling, is a statue of our blessed sovereign 
George II. How absurd these pompous images look, of de- 
funct majesties, for whom no breathing soul cares a halfpenny! 
It is not so with the efiigy of William III., who has done some- 
thing to merit a statue. At this minute the Lord Mayor has 
William's effigy under a canvas, and is painting him of a bright 
green, picked out with yellow — his lordship's own livery. 

The view along the quays to the four Courts has no small 
resemblance to a view along the quays at Paris, though not so 
lively as are even those quiet walks. The vessels do not come 
above-bridge, and the marine population remains constant about 
them, and about numerous dirty liquor-shops, eating-houses, 
and marine-store establishments, which are kept for their ac- 
commodation along the quay. As far as you can see, the shin- 
ing Liffey flows away eastward, hastening (like the rest of the 
inhabitants of Dublin) to the sea. 

In front of Carlisle Bridge, and not in the least crowded, 
though in the midst of Sackville Street, stands Nelson upon a 
stone-pillar. The Post Office is on his right hand (^only it is 



3CO 



THE IRISH .:^; KETCH BOOK. 



cut off) ; and on his left, " Gresham's " and the '* Imperial 
Hotel." Of the latter let me say (from subsequent experience) 
that it is ornamented by a cook who could dress a dinner by 
the side of M. Borel or M, Soyer. Would there were more 
such artists in this ill-fated country ! The street is exceedingly 
broad and handsome ; the shops at the commencement, rich 
and spacious ; but in Upper Sackville Street, which closes with 
the pretty building and gardens of the Rotunda, the appear- 
ance of wealth begins to fade somewhat, and the houses look, 
as if they had seen better days. Even in this, the great street i 
of the town, there is scarcely any one, and it is as vacant and! 
listless as Pall Mall in October. In one of the streets oil Sack-j 
ville Street, is the house and exhibition of the Irish Academy,! 
which I went to see, as it was positively to close at the end of i 
the week. While I was there, two othe?- people came in; audi 
we had, besides, the money-taker and a porter, to whom the 
former was reading out of a newspaper, those Tipperary murders' 
which were mentioned in a former page. The echo took up the 
theme, and hummed it gloomily through the vacant place. 

The drawings and reputation of Mr. Burton are well known 
in England : his pieces were the most admired in the collec- 
tion. The best draughtsman is an imitator of Maclise, Mr. 
Bridgeman, whose pictures are full of vigorous drawing, and 
remarkable too for their grace, I gave my catalogue to the 
two young ladies before mentioned, and have forgotten tha 
names of other artists of merit, whose works decked the walls 
of the little gallery. Here, as in London, the Art Union is' 
making a stir ; and several of the pieces were marked as thej 
property of members of that body. The possession of some ofi' 
these one would not be inclined to covet ; but it is pleasant to! 
see that people begin to buy pictures at all, and there will be 
no lack of artists presently, in a country where nature is so 
beautiful, and genius so plenty. In speaking of the fine arts 
and views of Dublin, it may be said that Mr. Petrie's designs 
•for Curry's Guide-book of the City are exceedingly beautiful, 
and, above all, frustivorthy : no common quality in a descriptive 
artist at present, 

Plaving a couple of letters of introduction to leave, I had 
the pleasure to find the blinds down at one house, and the 
window in papers at another ; and at each place the knock waj: 
answered in that leisurely way, by one of those dingy female 
lieutenants who have no need to tell you that families are oul 
of town. So the solitude became very painful, and I thought 1 
would go back and talk to the waiter at the " Shelburne," the 



THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 3 © i 

only man in the whole kingdom that I knew, I had been ac- 
commodated with a queer little room, and dressing-room on the 
ground floor, looking towards the Green : a black-faced, good- 
humored chambermaid had promised to perform a deal of 
scouring which was evidently necessary, (a fact she might have 
observed for six months back, only she is no doubt of an absent 
turn,) and when I came back from the walk, I saw the little 
room was evidently enjoying itself in the sunshine, for it liad 
opened its window, and was taking a breath of fresh air, as it 
looked out upon the Green. 

As I came up to it in the street, its appearance made me 
burst out laughing, very much to the surprise of a ragged 
cluster of idlers lolling upon the steps next door. You don't 
see such windows commonly in respectable English inns — 
windows leaning gracefully upon hearth-brooms for support. 
Look out of that window without the hearth-broom and it 
would cut your head off : how the beggars would start that 
are always sitting on the steps next door ! Is it prejudice that 
makes one prefer the English window, that relies on its own 
ropes and ballast (or lead if you like), and does not need to be 
propped by any foreign aid .? or is this only a solitary instance 
of the kind, and are there no other specimens in Ireland of the 
careless, dangerous, extravagant hearth-broom system 1 

In the midst of these reflections (which might have been 
carried much farther, for a person with an allegorical turn 
might examine the entire country through this window), a most 
wonderful cab, with an immense prancing cab-horse, was seen 
to stop at the door of the hotel, and Pat the waiter tumbling 
into the room swiftly with a card in his hand, says, " Sir, the 
gentleman of this card is waiting for you at the door." M071 
dieu r^ it was an invitation to dinner ! and I almost leapt into 
the arms of the man in the cab — so delightful was it to find a 
friend in the place where, a jnoment before, I had been as 
lonely as Robinson Crusoe. 

The only drawback, perhaps, to pure happiness, when riding 
in such a gorgeous equipage as this, was that we could not 
drive up Regent Street, and meet a few creditors, or acquaint- 
ances at least. However, Pat, I thought, was exceedingly 
awe-stricken by my disappearance in this vehicle ; which had 
evidently, too, a considerable effect upon some other waiters iit 
the " Shelburne," with wh®m I was not as yet so familiar. 
The mouldy camelopard at the Trinity College " Musayum " 
was scarcely taller than the bay-horse in the cab ; the groom 
behind was of a corresponding smallness. The cab was of a 



302 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

lovely olive-green, picked out with white, high on high springs 
and enormous wheels, which, big as they were, scarcely seemed 
to touch the earth. The little tiger swung gracefully up and 
down, holding on by the hood, which was of the material of 
which the most precious and polished boots are made. As for 
the lining — but here we come too near the sanctity of private 
life ; suffice that there was a kind friend inside, who (though 
by no means of the fairy sort) was as welcome as any fairy in 

the finest chariot. W had seen me landing from the packet 

that morning, and was the very man who in London, a month 
previous, had recommended me to the " Shelburne." These 
facts are not of much consequence to the public, to be surei| 
except that an explanation was necessary of the miraculous ap- 
pearance of the cab and horse. 

Our course, as may be imagined, was towards the sea-side ; 
for whither else should an Irishman at this season go ? Not 
far from Kingstown is a house devoted to the purpose of fes- 
tivity : it is called Salt Hill, stands upon a rising ground, com- 
manding a fine view of the bay and the railroad, and is kept 
by persons bearing the celebrated name of Lovegrove. It is 
in fact a sea-Greenwich, and though there are no marine white- 
bait, other fishes are to be had in plenty, and especially the 
famous Bray trout, which does not ill deserve its reputation. 

Here we met three young men, who may be called by the 
names of their several counties — Mr. Galway, Mr. Roscommon, 
and Mr. Clare ; and it seemed that I was to complain of soli- 
tude no longer : for one straightway invited me to his county, 
where was the finest salmon-fishing in the world ; another said 
he would drive me through the county Kerry in his four-jn- 
hand drag ; and the third had some propositions of sport equally 
hospitable. As for going down to some races, on the Curragh 
of Kildare I think, which were to be held on the next and the 
three following days, there seemed to be no question about 
that. That a man should miss a race within forty miles, 
seemed to be a point never contemplated by those jovial sport- 
ing fellows. 

Strolling about in the neighborhood before dinner, we went 
down to the sea-shore, and to some caves which had lately been 
discovered there ; and two Irish ladies, who were standing at 
the entrance of one of them, permitted me to take their por- 
traits. 

They said they had not acquiesced in the general Temper- 
ance movement that had taken place throughout the country ; 
and, indeed, if the truth must be known, it was only under 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



303 



promise of a glass of whiskey apiece that their modesty could 
be so far ov^ercome as to permit them to sit for their portraits. 
By the time they were done, a crowd of both sexes had gathered 
round, and expressed themselves quite ready to sit upon the 
same terms. But though there was great variety in their coun- 
tenances, there was not much beauty ; and besides, dinner was 
by this time ready, which has at certain periods a charm even 
greater than art. 

The bay, which had been veiled in mist and gray in the 
morning, was now shining under the most beautiful clear sky, 
which presently became rich with a thousand gorgeous hues of 
sunset. The view was as smiling and delightful a one as can 
be conceived, — just such a one as should be seen a travers a 
good dinner ; with no fatiguing sublimity or awful beauty in it, 
but brisk, brilliant, sunny, enlivening. In fact, in placing his 
banqueting-house here, Mr. Lovegrove had, as usual, a brilliant 
idea. You must not have too much view, or a severe one, to 
give a relish to a good dinner ; nor too much music, nor too 
quick, nor too slow, nor too loud. Any reader who has dined 
at a table-d'hbte in Germany will know the annoyance of this : a 
set of musicians immediately at your back will sometimes play 
you a melancholy polonaise ; and a man with a good ear must 
perforce eat in time, and your soup is quite cold before it is 
swallowed. Then, all of a sudden, crash goes a brisk gallop ! 
and you are obliged to gulp your victuals at the rate of ten 
miles an hour. And in respect of conversation during a good 
dinner, the same rules of propriety should be consulted. Deep 
and sublime talk is as improper as sublime prospects. Dante 
and champagne (I was going to say Milton and oysters, but 
that is a pun) are quite unfit themes of dinner-talk. Let it be 
light, brisk, not oppressive to the brain. Our conversation 
was, I recollect, just the thing. We talked about the last 
Derby the whole time, and the state of the odds for the St. 
Leger ; nor was the Ascot Cup forgotten ; and a bet or two 
was gayly booked. 

Meanwhile the sky, which had been blue and then red, 
assumed, towards the horizon, as the red was sinking under it, 
a gentle, delicate cast of green. Howth Hill became of a darker 
purple, and the sails of the boats rather dim. The sea grew 
deeper and deeper in color. The lamps at the railroad dotted 
the line with fire ; and the light-houses of the bay began to 
flame. The trains to and from the city rushed flashing and 
hissing by. In a word, everybody said it was time to light a 



304 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

cigar ; which was done, the conversation about the Derby still 
continuing. 

*' Put out that candle," said Roscommon to Clare. This 
the latter instantly did by flinging the taper out of the window 
upon the lawn, which is a thoroughfare ; and where a great 
laugh arose among half a score of beggar-boys, who had been 
under the window for some time past, repeatedly requesting 
the company to throw out sixpence between them. 

Two other sporting young fellows had now joined the com- 
pany; and as by this time claret began to have rather a mawkish 
taste, whiskey-and-water was ordered, which was drunk upon 
\hQ perron before the house, whither the whole party adjourned, 
and where for many hours we delightfully tossed for sixpences 
— a noble and fascinating sport. Nor would these remarkable 
events have been narrated, had I not received express permis- 
sion from the gentlemen of the party to record all that was said 
and done. Who knows but, a thousand years hence, some 
antiquary or historian may find a moral in this description of 
the amusement of the British youth at the present enlightened 
time. 

HOT LOBSTER. 

P.S. — You take a lobster, about three feet long if possible, 
remove the shell, cut or break the flesh of the fish in pieces 
not too small. Some one else meanwhile makes a mixture of 
mustard, vinegar, catsup, and lots of cayenne pepper. You 
produce a machine called a despatcher^ which has a spirit-lamp 
under it that is usually illuminated with whiskey. The lobster, 
the sauce, and near half a pound of butter are placed in the 
despatcher, which is immediately closed. When boiling, the 
mixture is stirred up, the lobster being sure to heave about in 
the pan in a convulsive manner, while it emits a remarkably 
rich and agreeable odor through the apartment. A glass and a 
half of sherry is now thrown into the pan, and the contents 
served out hot, and eaten by the company. Porter is com- 
monly drunk, and whiskey-punch afterwards, and the dish is fit 
for an emperor. 

N.B. — You are recommended not to hurry yourself in 
getting up the next morning, and may take soda-water with 
advantage. — Fro bat um est. 



THE IRfSn SKETCH BOOK. 



CHAPTER II. 

A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN KILDARE SKETCHES OF AN IRISH FAMILY 

AND FARM. 

It had been settled among my friends, I don't know for 
what particular reason, that the Agricultural Show at Cork was 
an exhibition I was specially bound to see. When, therefore, 
a gentleman to whom I had brought a letter of introduction 
kindly offered me a seat in his carriage, which was to travel b}- 
short days' journeys to that city, I took an abrupt farewell of 
Pat the waiter, and some other friends in Dublin : proposing 
to renew our acquaintance, however, upon some future day. 

We started then one fine afternoon on the road from Dub- 
lin to Naas, which is the main southern road from the capital 
to Munster, and met, in the course of the ride of a score of 
miles, a dozen of coaches very heavily loaded, and bringing 
passengers to the city. The exit from Dublin this way is not 
much more elegant than the outlet by way of Kingstown : for 
though the great branches of the city appear flourishing enough 
as yet, tl>e smaller outer ones are in a sad state of decay. 
Houses drop off here and there, and dwindle wofully in size ; 
we are got into the back-premises of the seemingly prosperous 
place, and it looks miserable, careless, and deserted. We passed 
through a street which was thriving once, but has fallen since 
into a sort of decay, to judge outwardly, — St. Thomas' Street. 
Emmett was hanged in the midst of it. And on pursuing the 
line of street, and crossing the Great Canal, you come presently 
to a fine tall square building in the outskirts of the town, which 
is no more nor less than Kilmainham Jail, or Castle. Poor 
Emmett is the Irish darling still — his history is on every book- 
stall in the city, and yonder trim-looking brick jail a spot where 
Irishmen may go and pray. Many a martyr of theirs has ap- 
peared and died in front of it, found guilty of "wearing of the 
green." 

There must be a fine view from the jail windows, for we 
presently come to a great stretch of brilUant green country, 
leaving the Dublin hills lying to the left, picturesque in their 
outline, and of wonderful color. It seems to me to be quite a 
different color to that in England — differe^^it-shaped clouds — ' 
different shadows and lights. The country is well tilled, well 

20 



3o6 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



peopled ; the hay-harvest on the ground, and the people taking 
advantage ol the sunshine to gather in it ; but in spite of 
everything, — green meadows, white villages and sunshine, — the 
place has a sort of sadness in the look of it. 

The first town we passed, as appears by reference to the 
Guide-book, is the little town of Rathcoole ; but in the space 
or three days Rathcoole has disappeared from my memory, 
with the exception of a little low building wdiich the village 
contains, and where are the quarters of the Irish constabulary. 
Nothing can be finer than the trim, orderly, and soldierlike ap-^ 
pearance of this splendid corps of men. 

One has glimpses all along the road of numerous gentle- 
men's places, looking extensive and prosperous, of a few mills 
by streams here and there ; but though the streams run still, 
the mill-wheels are idle for the chief part, and the road passes 
more than one long low village, looking bare and poor, but 
neat and whitewashed : it seems as if the inhabitants were de- 
termined to put a decent look upon their poverty. One or two 
villages there were evidently appertaining to gentlemen's seats ; 
these are smart enough, especially that of Johnstown, near 
Lord's Mayo's fine domain, where the houses are of the Gothic 
sort, with pretty porches, creepers, and railings. Noble purple 
hills to the left and right keep \\\y, as it were, an accompani- 
ment to the road. 

As for the town of Naas, the first after Dublin that I have 
seen, what can be said of it but tliat it looks poor, mean, and 
yet somehow cheerful ? There was a little bustle in the small 
shops, a few cars were jingling along the broadest street of the 
town — some sort of dandies and military individuals were lolling 
about right and left ; and I saw a fine court-house, \ h M-e the 
assizes of Kildare county are held. 

But by far the finest, and I think the most extensive edilice 
in Naas, was a haystack in the inn-yard, the proprietor of which 
did not fail to make me remark its size and splendor. It was 
of such dimensions as to strike a cockney with respect and 
pleasure ; and here standing just as the new crops were com- 
ing in, told a tale of- opulent thrift and good husbandry. Are 
there many more such haystacks, I wonder, in Ireland t The 
crops along the road seemed healthy, though rather light; 
wheat and oats plenty, and especially flourishing; hay and 
clover not so good ; and turnips (let the important remark be 
taken at its full value) almost entirely wanting. 

The little town, as they call it, of KilcuUen, tumbles down a 
hill and struggles up another ; the two being here picturesquely 



THE IRISH SKE 1 1 7/ B OOK. 307 

divided by the Liffey, over which goes an antique bridge. It 
boasts, moreover, of a portion ol an abbey wall, and a piece 
of round tower, both on the hill summit, and to be seen (says 
the Guide-book) for many miles round. Here we saw the first 
public evidences of the distress of the country. There was no 
trade in the little place, and but few people to be seen, except 
a crowd round a meal-shop, where meal is distributed once a 
week by the neighboring gentry. There must have been some 
hundreds of persons waiting about the doors ; women for the 
most part : some of their children were to be found loitering 
about the bridge much farther up the street : but 'Vt was curious 
to note, amongst these undeniably starving people, how healthy 
their looks were. Going a little farther we saw women pulling 
weeds and nettles in the hedges, on which dismal sustenance 
the poor creatures live, having no bread, no potatoes, no work. 
Well ! these women did not look thinner or more unhealthy 
than many a well-fed person; A company of English lawyers, 
now, look more cadaverous than these starving creatures. 

Stretching away from Kilcullen bridge, for a couple of miles 
or more, near the fine house and plantations of the Latouche 
family, is to be seen a much prettier sight, I think, than the 
finest park and mansion in the world. This is a tract of exces- 
sively green land, dotted over with brilliant white cottages, 
each with its couple of trim acres of garden, where you see 
thick potato-ridges covered with blossom, great blue plots of 
comfortable cabbages and such pleasant plants of the poor 
man's garden. Two or three years since, the land was a 
marshy common, which had never since the days of the Deluge 
fed any being bigger than a snipe, and into which the poor 
people descended, draining and cultivating and rescuing the 
marsh from the water, and raising their cabins and setting up 
their little inclosures of two or three acres upon the land which 
they had thus created. " Many of 'em has passed months in 
jail for that," said my informant (a groom on the back seat of 
my host's phaeton) ; for it appears that certain gentlemen in 
the neighborhood looked upon the titles of these new colonists 
with some jealousy, and would have been glad to depose them ; 
but there were some better philosophers among the surrounding 
gentry, who advised that instead of discouraging the settlers it 
would be best to help them ; and the consequence has been, 
that there are now tv/o hundred flourishing little homesteads 
upon this rescued land, and as many families in comfort and 
plenty. 

Just at the confines of this pretty rustic republic, our pleas- 



3o8 



riiE ij<jsii sh'j-yj'cfi Bo9K\ 



aiit afternoon's drive ended ; and I niusu Ijcgin iliis tour with t 
monstrous breach of confidence, by iirsL describing what 1 saw. 

Well, then, we dro\c through a neat lodge-gate, with no 
stone hons or supporters, but riding well on its liinges, aud 
looking fresh ancl white ; and passed by a lodge, not Cothic, 
but decorated with flowers and evergreens, with clean windows, 
and a sound slate roof; and then went over a trim^road, 
through a few acres of grass, adorned with plenty of young firs 
and other healthy trees, under which were feeding a dozen of 
line cows or more. The road led up to a house, or rather' a 
congregatioivof rooms, built seemingly to suit the owner's con- 
venience, and increasing with his increasing wealth, or whim, 
or family. This latter is as plentiful as everything else about 
the place ; and as the arrows increased, the good-natured, lucky 
father has been forced to multiply the quivers. 

First came out a young gentleman, the heir of the house, 
who, after greeting his papa, began examining the horses v^'ith 
much interest ; whilst three or four servants, quite neat and 
well dressed, and, wonderful to say, without any talking, began 
to occupy themselves with the carriage, the passengers, and 
the trunks. Meanwhile, the owner of the house had gone into 
the hall, which is snugly furnished as a morning-room, and 
where one, two, three young ladies came in to greet him. 
The young ladies having concluded their embraces, performed 
(as I am bound to say from experience, both in London and 
Paris,) some very appropriate and well-finished curtseys to the 
strangers arriving. And these three young persons were pres- 
ently succeeded by some still younger, who came without any 
curtseys at all ; but, bounding and jumping, and shouting out 
" Papa " at the top of their voices, they fell forthwith upon that 
worthy gentleman's person, taking possession this of his knees, 
that of his arms, that of his whiskers, as fancy or taste might 
dictate. 

" Are there any more of you .'' " says he, with perfect good- 
humor ; and, in fact, it ajDpeared that there were some more in 
the nurser}^, as we subsequently had occasion to see. 

Well, this large happy family are lodged in a house than 
which a prettier or more comfortable is not to be seen even in 
England ; of the furniture of which it may be in confidence 
said, that each article is only made to answer one purpose : — 
thus, that chairs are never called upon to exercise the versatility 
of their genius by propping up windows ; that chests of drawers 
are not obliged to move their unwieldy persons in order to act 
as locks to doors ; that the windows are not variegated by 



rilE [RlSri SKETCH BOOK. 



309 



paper, or adorned with wafers, as in other places which I have 
seen : in fact, that the place is just as comfortable as a place 
can be. 

And if these comforts and reminiscences of three days' date 
are enlarged upon at some length, the reason is simply this : — 
this is VN'ritten at what is supposed to be the best inn at one of the 
best towns of Ireland, Waterford. Dinner is just over ; it is assize- 
week, and the table-ifhoie . was surrounded for the chief part, by 
English attorneys — the cyouncillors (as the bar are pertinaciously 
called) dining up stairs in private, Well, on going to the public' 
room and being about to lay down my hat on the sideboard, I 
was obliged to pause — out of regard to a fine thick coat of dust 
which had been kindly left to gather for some days past I 
should think, and which it seemed a shame to displace. Yon- 
der is a chair basking quietly in the sunshine ; some round 
object has evidently reposed upon it (a hat or plate probably), 
for you see a clear circle of black horsehair in the middle of the 
chair, and dust all round it. Not one of' those dirty napkins 
that the four waiters carry, would wipe away the grime from the 
chair, and take to itself a little dust more ! The people in the 
room are shouting out for the waiters, who cry, " Yes, sir," pee- 
vishly, and don't come ; but stand bawling and jangling, and 
calling each other names, at the sideboard. The dinner is 
plentiful and nasty — raw ducks, raw pease, on a crumpled 
table-cloth, over which a waiter has just spirted a pint of ob- 
streperous cider. The windows are open, to give free view of 
a crowd of old beggar-women, and of a fellow playing a cursed 
Irish pipe. Presently this delectable apartment fills with chok- 
ing peat-smoke ; and on asking what is the cause of this agree- 
able addition to the pleasures of the place, you are told that 
they are lighting a fire in a back-room. 

Why should lighting a fire in a back-room fill a whole enor- 
mous house with smoke ? Why should four waiters stand and 
jaiv and gesticulate among themselves, instead of waiting on 
the guests ? Why should ducks be raw, and dust lie quiet in 
places where a hundred people pass daily ? All these points 
makes one think very regretfully of neat, pleasant, comfortable, 

prosperous H town, where the meat was cooked, and the 

rooms were clean, and the servants didn't talk. Nor need it be 
said here, that it is as cheap to have a house clean as dirty, and 
that a raw leg of mutton costs exactly the same sum as one cuit 
a po'mt. And by this moral earnestly hoping that all Ireland 

may profit, let as go back to H , and the sights to be seen 

there. 



3IO 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



There is no need to particularize the chairs and tables anyi 
farther, nor "to say what sort of conversation and claret we had; 
nor to set down the dishes served at dinner. If an Irish gentle- 
man does not give you a more hearty welcome than an English- 
man, at least he has a more hearty manner of welcoming you ; 
and while the latter reserves liis fun and humor (if he possess; 
those qualities) for his particular friends, the former is ready toi 
laugh and talk his best with all the world, and give way entirely 
to his mood. And it would be a go6d opportunity here for a 
.man who is clever at philosophizing to expound various theories; 
upon the modes of hospitality practised in various parts of 
Europe. In a couple of hours' talk, an Englishmen will give 
you his notions on trade, politics, the crops ; the last run with 
the hounds, or the weather : it requires a long sitting, and a 
bottle of wine at the least, to induce him to laugh cordially, or • 
to speak unreservedly ; and if you joke with him before you 
know him, he will assuredly set you down as a low impertinent 
fellow. In two hours, and over a pipe, a German will be quite 
ready to let loose the easy floodgates of his sentiment, and con- 
fide to you many of the secrets of his soft heart. In two hours 
a Frenchman will say a hundred and twenty smart, witty, bril- 
liant, false things, and will care for you as much then as he 
would if you saw him every day for twenty years — that is, not 
one single straw; and in two hours an Irishman will have 
allowed his jovial humor to unbutton, and gambolled and frol- 
icked to his heart's content. Which of these, puttitig Monsieur 
out of the question, will stand by his friend with the most con- 
stancy, and maintain his steady wish to serve him ? That is a 
question which the Englishman (and I think with a little of his 
ordinary cool assumption) is disposed to decide in his own 
favor ; but it is clear that for a stranger the Irish ways are the 
pleasantest, for here he is at once made happy and at home : 
or at ease rather ; for home is a strong word, and implies much 
more than any stranger can expect, or even desire to claim. 

Nothing could be more delightful to witness than the evident 
affection which the children and parents bore to one another,, 
and the cheerfulness and happiness of their family-parties. The; 
father of one lad went with a party of his friends and family; 
on a pleasure-party, in a handsome coach-and-four. The little 
fellow sat on the coach-box and played with the whip very 
wistfully for some time : the sun was shining, the horses came . 
out in bright harness, with glistening coats ; one of the girls^ 
brought a geranium to stick in papa's button-hole, who was to 
drive. But although there was room in the coach, and though 



THE ir[::h S.AV-: rc![ book. 3 1 j 

papa said he should go if he liked, and though the lad longed 
to go — as wh.o wouldn't ?- die ir.jiiped off the box and said he 
would not go: mamfna would lihe him to stop at iiome and 
keep his sister company ; and so down he went like a hero. 
Does this story appear trivial to any one wlio reads i' ? If so, 
he is a pompous leliow, whose opinion is not worlh the 1 aving ; 
or he has no children of his own y ox he has forgoiten tie day 
when he was a child liimself ; or lie has never repented oi tht 
surly seltishness wil'i which l:e irealed brothers and sisters, 
after the habit of young Englisli gentlemen. 

"That's a list that uncle keeps of his children," said the 
same young fellow, seeing his uncle reading a paper; and to 
understand this joke, it must be remembered that the cluldren 
of the gentleman called uncle came into the breakfast-room by 
half-dozens. " Thut's a rum fellow," said the eldest of these 
latter to me, as his father went out of the room, evidently think- 
ing his papa was the greatest wit and wonder in the whole 
world. And a great merit, as it appeared to me, on the part 
of these worthy parents was, that they -consented not only to 
make, but to take jokes from their young ones : nor was the 
parental authority in the least weakened by this kind familiar 
intercourse. 

A word with regard to the ladies so far. I'hose I ha\e seen 
appear to the full as well educated and refined, and far more 
frank and cordial, than the generality of the fair creatures on 
the other side of the Channel. I have not heard anything 
about poetry, to be sure, and in only one house ha\ e seen an 
album ; but I have heard some capital music, of an excellent 
family sort — that- sort which is used, namely, to set young 
people dancing, which they have done merrily for some ndghts. 
In respect of drinking, among the gentry teetotalism does not, 
thank heaven 1 as yet appear to prevail ; but although the claret 
has been invariably good, there luis been no improper use of 
it.* Let all English be recommended to be very careful of 
whiskey, which experience teaches to be a very deleterious drink. 
Natives say that it is wholesome, and may be sometimes seen 
to use it with impunity; but the whiskey-fever is naturally mere 
fatal to strangers than inhabitants of the country ; and whereas 
an Irishman will sometimes imbibe a half-dozen tumblers of 
the poison, two glasses will be often found to cause headaches, 
heartburns, and fevers to a person newly arrived in the country. 
The said whiske/is always to be had for the asking, but is not 
produced at the bettcrmost sort of tables. 

* The: or/iy insta-.ices of intoxicati. n th:it I h.;vc heard oi as yci, !iave been c:i tlif part 
Df two " cycuncillors," drunk and noi«y yrgterd^y after the bar dinner at Waterforr]. 



312 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

Before setting out on our second day's journey, we had time 

to accompany the well-pleased owner of H town over some 

of his fields and out-premises. Nor can there be a pleasanter 

sight to owner or stranger. Mr. P farms four hundred 

acres of land about his house; and employs on this estate no 
less than a hundred and ten persons. He says there is full 
work for every one of them; and to see the elaborate state of 
cultivation in which^the land w^as, it is easy to understand ho^v■ 
such an agricultural regiment were employed. The estate \ 
like a well-ordered garden : we walked into a huge field of po- 
tatoes, and the landlord made us remark that there was not.ci 
single weed betw-een the furrows ; and the whole formed a vast 
flower-bed of a score of acres. Every bit of land up to the 
hedge-side was fertilized and full of produce : the space left for 
the plough having afterwards been gone over, and yielding its 
fullest proportion of " fruit." In a turnip-field were a score or 
more of women and children, who were marching through the 
ridges, removing the young plants where two or three had 
grown together, and leaving only the most healthy. Every 
individual root in the field was thus the object of culture ; and 
the owner said that this extreme cultivation answered his pur- 
pose, and that the employment of all these hands (the women 
aixl children earn 6//. and 8^/. a day all the year round), which 
.gained him some reputation as a philanthropist, brought him 
profit as a farmer too ; for his crops were the best that land 
could produce. He has further the advantage of a large stock 
for manure, and does everything for the land which art can do. 

Here we saw several experiments in manuring : an acre of 
turnips prepared w-ith bone-dust ; another with " Murray's Cora- 
position," whereof I do not pretend to know the ingredients-; 
another with a new manure called guano. As far as turnips 
and a first year's crop went, the guano carried the day. The 
plants on the guano acre looked to be three weeks in advance 
of their neighbors, and were extremely plentiful and healthy. 
I went to see this field two months after the above passage was 
written : the guano acre still kept the lead ; the bone-dust ran 
guano very hard; and composition was clearly distanced: 

Behind the house is a fine village of corn and hayricks, and 
a street of out-buildings, where all the work of the farm is pre- 
pared. Here were numerous people coming with pails for 
buttermilk, which the good-natured landlord made over to 
them. A score of men or more were busied about the place ; 
some at a gruidstone, others at a forge — -other fellows busied 
in the cart-houses and stables, all of which w^ere as neatly kept 



Til/: IRISH SKEI\1I BOOK. 3,3 

as in the best farm in England. A little farther on was a 
flower-garden, a kitchen-garden, a hot-house just building, a 
kennel of fine pointers and setters ; — indeed a noble feature of 
country neatness, thrift, and plenty. 

We went into the cottages and gardens of several of Mr. 
P— — 's laborers, which were all so neat that I could not help 
fancying they were pet cottages erected under the landlord's 
own superintendence, and ornamented to his order. But he 
declared that it was not so ; that the only benefit his laborers 
got from him was constant work, and a house rent-free ; and 
that the neatness of the gardens and dwellings was of their 
own doing. By making them a present of the house, he said:, 
he made them a present of the pig and live stock, with which 
almost every Irisli cotter pays his rent, so that each workman 
could have a bit of meat for his support ; — would that all labor- 
ers in the empire had as much ! With regard to the neatness 
of the houses, the best way to ensure this, he said, was for the 
master constantly to visit them — to awaken as much emula- 
tion as he could amongst the cottagers, so that each should 
make his place as good as his neighbor's — and to take them 
good-hum oredly to task if they failed in the requisite care. 

And so this pleasant day's visit ended. A more practical 
person would have seen, no doubt, and understood much more 
than a mere citizen could, whose pursuits have been very dif- 
ferent from those noble and useful ones here spoken of. But 
a man has no call to be a judge of turnips or live stock, in 
order to admire such an establishment as this, and heartily to 
appreciate the excellence of it. There are some happy organ- 
izations in the world which possess the great virtue oi prosperity. 
It implies "cheerfulness, simplicity, shrewdness, perseverance, 
honesty, good health. See how, before the good-humored 
resolution of such characters, ill-luck gives way, and fortune 
assumes their own smiling complexion ! Such men grow rich 
without driving a single hard bargain ; their condition being to 
make others prosper along with themselves. Thus, his very 
charit}^, another informant tells me, is one of the causes of my 
host's good fortune. He might have three pounds a year from 
each of forty cottages, but instead prefers a hundred healthy 
workmen ; or he might have a fourth of the number of work- 
men, and a farm yielding a produce proportionately less ; but 
instead of saving the money of their wages, prefers a farm the 
produce of which, as I have heard from a gentleman whom I 
take to be good authority, is unequalled elsewhere. 

Besides the cottages, we visited a prej;ty school, where chil- 



3^4 



THE JRISII SKETCH BOOK. 



dren of an exceeding smallness were at their work, — the chil- 
dren of the Catholic peasantry. The few Protestants of the 
district do not attend the national-school, nor learn their alpha- 
bet or their multiplication-table in company with their little 
Roman Catholic brethren. The clergyman, who lives hard by 
the gate of H town, in his communication with his parish- 
ioners cannot fail to see how much misery is relieved, and how 
much good is done by his neighbor; but though the two gentle- 
men are on good terms, the clergyman will not break bread with 
his Catholic fellow-Christian. There can be no harm, I hope, 
in mentioning this fact, as it is rather a public than a private 
matter ; and, unfortunately, it is only a stranger that is sur- 
prised by such a circumstance, which is quite familiar to resi- 
dents of the country. There are Catholic inns and Protestant 
inns in the towns ; Catholic coaches and Protestant coaches on 
the roads ; nay, in the North, I have since heard of a High 
Church coach and a Low Church coach adopted by travelling 
Christians of either party. 



CHAPTER HI. 

FROM CARLO W TO WATERFORD. 

The next morning being fixed for the commencement of 
our journey towards Waterford, a carriage made its appearance 
in due time before the hall-door: an amateur stage-coach, with 
four fine horses, that were to carry us to Cork. The crew of 
the " drag," for the present, consisted of two young ladies, and 
two who will not be old, please heaven ! for these thirty years j 
three gentlemen whose collected weights might amount to fifty- 
four stone ; and one of smaller proportions, being as yet only 
twelve years old ; to these were added a couple of grooms and 
a lady's-maid. Subsequently we took in a dozen or so more 
passengers, who did not seem in the slightest degree to incon- 
venience the coach or the horses ; and thus was formed a tol- 
erably numerous and merry party. The governor took the 
reins, with his geranium in his button-hole, and the place on 
the box was quarrelled for without ceasing, and taken by 
turns. 

Our day's journey lay through a country more picturesque^ | 



THE IRISH SKEI'CH BOOK 



315 



though by no means so prosperous and well cultivated as the 
district through which we had passed on our drive from Dubhn. 
This trip carried us through the county of Carlow and the town 
of that name : a wretched place enough, with a line courtv 
house, and a couple of fine churches : the Protestant church a 
noble structure, and the Catholic cathedral said to be built 
after some continental model. The Catholics point to the 
structure with considerable pride : it w^as the first, I believe, of 
the many handsome cathedrals for their worship which have 
been built of late years in this country by the noble contribu- 
tions of the poor man's penny, and by the untiring energies 
and sacrifices of the clergy. Bishop Doyle, the founder of the 
church, has the place of honor within it ; nor, perhaps, did any 
Christian pastor ever merit the affection of his flock more than 
that great and high-minded man. He was the best champion 
the Catholic Church and cause ever had in Ireland : in learn- 
ing, and admirable kindness and virtue, the best example to 
the clergy of his religion : and if the country is nov; filled with 
schools, where the humblest peasant in it can have the benefit 
of a liberal and wholesome education, it owes this great boon 
mainly to liis noble exertions, and to the spirit which they 
awakened. 

As for the architecture of the cathedral, I do not fancy a 
professional man would find much to praise in it; it seems to 
me overloaded with ornaments, nor were its innumerable 
•spires and pinnacles the more pleasing to the eye because some 
of them, were out of the perpendicular. The interior is quite 
plain, not to say bare and unfinished. Many of the chapels in 
the country that I have since seen are in a similar condition ; 
for v/hen the walls are once raised, the enthusiasm of the sub- 
scribers to tlie building seems somewhat characteristically to 
grow cool, and 3'ou enter at a porch that would suit a palace, 
with an interior scarcely more decorated than a barn. A wide 
large floor, some confession-boxes against the blank walls here 
and there, with some humble pictures at the " stations," and the 
statue, under a mean canopy of red woollen stuff, were the chief 
furniture of the cathedral. 

The severe homely features of the good bishop were not 
very favorable subjects for Mr. Hogan's chisel ; but a figure of 
prostrate, weeping Ireland, kneeling by the prelate's side, and 
for whom he is imploring protection, has much beauty. In the 
chapels of Dublin and Cork some of this artist's works may be 
seen, and his countrymen are exceedingly proud of him. 

Connected with the Catholic cathedral is a large tumble- 



3i6 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



down looking divinity college : there are upwards of a hundred 
students here,- and the college is licensed to give degrees in 
arts as well as divinity ; at least so the officer of the church 
said, as he showed us the place through the bars of the sacristy- 
windows, in which apartment may be seen sundry crosses, a 
pastoral letter of Dr. Uoyle, and a number of ecclesiastical 
vestments formed of laces, poplins, and velvets, liandsonicly 
laced with gold. There is a convent by the side of the catbe 
dral, and, of course, a parcel of beggars all about, and indeed 
all over the town, profuse in their pra3-ers and invocations of 
the Lord, and whining flatteries of the persons whom they ad- 
dress. One wretched old tottering hag began whining the 
Lord's Prayer as a proof of her sincerity, and blundered in the 
very midst of it, and left us thoroughly disgusted after the very 
first sentence. 

It was market-day in the town, which is tolerably full of 
poor-looking shops, the streets being thronged with donkey- 
carts, and people eager to barter their small wares. Here and 
there were picture-stalls, with huge hideous-colored engravings 
of the Saints : and indeed the objects of barter upon the banks 
of the clear bright river Barrow seemed scarcely to be of more 
value than the articles which change hands, as one reads of, in 
a town of African huts and traders on the banks of the Quorra.. 
Perhaps the very bustle and cheerfulness of the people served, 
only, to a Londoner's eyes, to make it look the more miserable. ' 
It seems as if they had no i-lg1it to be eager about such a 
parcel of wretched rags and trifles as were exposed to sale. 

There are some old towers of a castle here, looking finely 
from the river; and near the town is a grand modern residence 
belonging to Colonel Bruen, with an oak-park on one side of 
the road, and a deer-park on the other. These retainers of 
the Colonel's lay in their rushy-green inclosures, in great num- 
bers and seemingly in flourishing condition. 

The road from Carlow to Leighlin Bridge is exceedingly 
beautiful : noble purple hills rising on either side, and the 
broad silver Barrow flowing through rich meadows of that 
astonishing verdure which is only to be seen in this country. 
Here and there was a country-house, or a tall mill by a stream- 
side : but the latter buildings were for the most part empty, 
the gaunt windows gaping without glass, and their great wheels . 
idle. Leighlin Bridge, lying up and down a hill by the river, 
contains a considerable number of pompous-looking ware- 
houses, that looked for the most part to be doing no more 
business than the mills on the Carlow road, but stood by the 



THE IRISH SKE 1 VII B O OK. 3 1 y 

roadside staring at the coach as it were, and basking in the 
sun, swaggering, idle, insolvent, and out-at-elbovvs. There are 
one or two very pretty, modest, comfortable-looking country- 
places about Leighlin Bridge, and on the road thence to a 
miserable village called the Royal Oak, a beggarly sort of 
bustling place. 

Here stands a dilapidated hotel and posting-house : and 
;eed on ever}^ road, as yet, I have been astonished at the 
great movement and stir ; — the old coaches being invariably 
crammed, cars jingling about equally full, and no want of gentle- 
men's carriages to exercise the horses of the " Royal Oak "' 
and similar establishments. In the time of the rebellion, the 
landlord of this " Royal Oak," a great character in those parts, 
was a fierce United Irishman. One day it happened that Sir 
John Anderson came to the inn, and was eager for horses on. 
The landlord, who knew Sir John to be a Tory, vowed and 
swore he had no horses ; that the judges had the last going to 
Kilkenny ; that the yeomanry had carried off the best of them ; 
that he could not give a horse for love or money. " Poor Lord 
Edward 1 " said Sir John, sinking dowai in a chair, and clasp- 
ing his hands, " my poor dear misguided friend, and must 
you die for the loss of a few hours and the want of a pair of 
horses ? •' 

" Lord What 2 " says the landlord. 

" Lord Edward Fitzgerald," replied Sir John. "The Gov- 
ernment has seized his papers, and got scent of his hiding- 
place. If I can't get to him before two hours, Sirr will have 
him." 

"My dear Sir John," cried the landlord, "it's not two 
horses but it's eight I'll give you, and may the judges go hang 
for me ! Here, Larry ! Tim ! First and second pair for Sir 
John Anderson ; and long life to you, Sir John, and the Lord 
reward you for your good deed this day! " 

Sir John, my informant told me, had invented this predica- 
ment of Lord Edward's in order to get the horses ; and by way 
of corroborating the whole story, pointed out an old chaise 
which stood at the inn-door with its window broken, a great 
crevice in the panel, some little wretches crawling underneath 
the wheels, and two huge blackguards lolling against the pole. 
" And that," says he, " is no doiibt the very post-chaise Sir 
John Anderson had.". It certainly looked ancient enough. 

Of course, as we stopped for a moment in the place, troops 
of slatternly, ruffianly-looking fellows assembled round the car- 
riage, dirty heads peeped out of all the dirty windows, beggars 



o I S THE IE mil SA'E 7 CH E 0/i 

came forward v/itli a joke and a prayer, and troops of children 
raised tiieir shouts and halloos. I confess, with regard to the 
beggars, that i have never yet liad the slightest sentiment of 
compassion for the very oldest or dirtiest of then), or been in-^ 
clined to give them a penny : they come crawlin\r round yoii 
with lying prayers and loathsome compliments, th.at make th;e 
stomach turn ; they do not even disguise that tl ey are Mer..; 
for, refuse them, and the wretch.es turn off with a laugh and a 
joke, a miserable grinning cynicism that creates distrust and 
indifference, and must be, one would think, the very best way 
to close the purse, not to open it, for objects so unworthy. 

How do all these people li-.e ? one can't help wondering ; — 
these multifarious vagabonds, without work or workhouse, or 
means of subsistence ? The Irish Poor Law Report says that 
there are twelve hundred thousand people in Ireland — a sixth 
of the population — who have no means of livelihood bul 
charity, and whom the State, or individual members of it, musf 
maintain. How ca7i the State support such an enormous bui^ 
den ; or the twelve hundred thousand be supported ? What a 
strange history it would be, could one but get it true, — that of 
the manner in which a score of these beggars have maintained 
themselves for a fortnight past ! -~ 

Soon after quitting the " Royal Oak," our road branches 
off to the hospitable house where our party, consisting of a 
dozen persons, was to be housed and fed for the night. Fancy 
the look which an English gentleman of moderate means 
would assume, at being called on to receive such a company! 
A pretty road of a couple of miles, thickly grown with ash and 
oak trees, under which the hats of coach-passengers suffered 

some danger, leads to the house of D . A young son of 

the house, on a white pony, was on the look-out, and great 
cheering and shouting took place among the young people as 
we came in sight. 

Trotting away by the carriage-side, he brought us through a 
gate with a pretty avenue of trees leading to the pleasure- 
grounds of the house — a handsome building commanding noble 
views of river, mountains, and plantations. Our entertainer 
only rents the place ; so I may say, without any imputation 
against him, that the house was by no means so handsome 
within as without, — not that the want of finish in the interior 
made our party the less merry, or the host's entertainment less 
hearty and cordial. 

The gentleman who built and owns the house, like many 
other proprietors in Ireland, found his mansion too expensive 



THE /A'/SJJ SM:I\// noOK. 3,0 

for his means, and has reUnquished it. I asked what his income 
might be, and no wonder that he was compelled to resign his 
house ; which a man with four times the income in England 
would scarcely venture to inhabit. There were numerous 
sitting-rooms below ; a large suite of rooms above, in which 
our larg.e party, with their servants, disappeared without auy 
seeming inconvenience, and which already accommodated a 
family of at least a dozen persons, and a numerous train of 
domestics. There was a great court-yard surrounded by capital 
offices, with stabling and coach-houses sufficient for a half-dozen 
of country ^[entlemen. An English squire of tefi thousand a 
year might live in such a place — the original owner, I am told, 
had not many more hundreds. 

Our host has wisely turned the chief part of the pleasure- 
ground round the house into a farm ; nor did the land look a 
bit the worse, as I thought, for having rich crops of potatoes 
growing in place of grass, and fine plots of waving wheat and 
barle3\ The care, skill, and neatness everyw^here exhibited, 
and the immense luxuriance of the crops, could not fail to 
strike even a cockney; and oneot our party, a very well-known, 
practical farmer, told me that there was at least five hundred 
pounds' worth of produce upon the little estate of some sixty 
acres, of which only five-and-twenty were under the plough. 

As at H— town, on the previous day, several men and 

women appeared sauntering in tlie grounds, and as the master 
came up, asked for work, or sixpence, or told a story of want. 
There are lodge-gates at both ends of the demesne ; but it 
appears the good-natured practice of the country admits a 
beggar as well as any other visitor. To a couple our landlord 
gave money, to another a little job of work ; another he sent 
roughly out of the premises : and I could judge thus what a 
continual tax upon the Irish gentleman these travelling paupers 
must be, of whom his ground is never free. 

There, loitering about the stables and out-houses, were 
several people who seemed to have acquired a sort of right to 
be there : women and children who had a claim upon the 
buttermilk ; men who did an odd job now and then ; loose 
hangers-on of the family : and in the lodging-houses and Inns 
1 have entered, the same sort of ragged vassals are to be found ; 
in a house however poor, you are sure to see some poorer 
dependant who is a stranger, taking a meal of potatoes in the 
kitchen ; a Tim or Mike loitering hard by, ready to run on a 
message, or carry a bag. This is written, for instance, at a 
lodging over a shop at Cork. There sits in the shop a poor 



320 THE IRIS J J SKETCH BOOK. 

old fellow quite past work, but who totters up and down stairs 
to the lodgers, and does what little he can for b*5 easily-won 
bread. There is another fellow outside who is sure to make 
his bow to anybody issuing from the lodging, and ask if his 
honor wants an errand done ? Neither class of such dependants 
exist with us. What housekeeper in London is there .will feed 
an old man of seventy that's good for nothing, or encourage 
such a disreputable hanger-on as yonder shuffling, smiling cad ? 

Nor did Mr. M -'s "irregulars" disappear with the day; 

for when, after a great deal of merriment, and kind, happy dan- 
cing and romping of young people, the fineness of the night sug- 
gested the propriety of smoking a certain cigar (it is never more 
acceptable than at that season), the young squire voted that we 
shquld adjourn to the stables for the purpose, where accord- 
ingly the cigars were discussed. There were still the inevitable 
half-dozen hangers-on : one came grinning with a lantern, all 
nature being in universal blackness except his grinning face ; 
another ran obsequiously to the stables to show a favorite 
mare — I think it was a mare — though it may have been a mule, 
and your humble servant not much the wiser. The cloths were 
taken off ; the fellows with the candles crowded about ; and 
the young squire bade me admire the beauty of her fore-leg,- 
which I did with the greatest possible gravity. " Did you ever 
see such a fore-leg as that in your life ? " says the young squire, 
and further discoursed upon the horse's points, the amateur 
grooms joining in chorus. 

There was another young squire of our party, a pleasant 
gentlemanlike young fellow, who danced as prettily as any 
Frenchman, and who had ridden over from a neighboring 
house : as I v/ent to bed, the two lads were arguing whether 

young Squire B should go home or stay at D that 

night. There was a bed for him — there was a bed for every- 
body, it seemed, and a kind welcome too. How different was 
all this to the ways of a severe English house ! 

Next morning the whole of our merry party assembled 
round a long, jovial breakfast-table, stored with all sorts of 
good things ; and the biggest and jovialest man of all, who had 
just come in fresh from a walk in the fields, and vowed that 
he was as hungry as a hunter, and was cutting some slices out 
of an inviting ham on the side-table, suddenly let fall his knife 
and fork with dismay. " Sure, John, don't you know it's 
Friday.?" cried a lady from the table; and back John came 
witii a most lugubrious queer look on his jolly face, and fell to 
work upon bread-and-butter, as resigned as possible, amidst no 



THE IRISH SKE TCH B O OK. 3 2 1 

small laughter, as may be well imagined. On this 1 was bound, 
as a Protestant, to cat a large slice of pork, and discharged 
that duty nobly, and with much self-sacrifice. 

The famous " drag " which had brought us so far, seemed 
to be as hospitable and elastic as the house -which we now left, 
for the coach accommodated, inside and out, a considerable party 
from the house ; and we took our road leisurely, in a cloudless, 
scorching day, towards Waterford. The first place we passed 
through was the little town of Gowran, near which is a grand, 
well-ordered park, belonging to Lord Clifden, and where his 
mother resides, wdth whose beautiful face, in Law^rence's pictures, 
every reader must be familiar. The kind English lady has 
done the greatest good in the neighborhood, it is said, and the 
little town bears marks of her beneficence, in its neatness, 
prettiness, and order. Close by the church there are the ruins 
of a line old abbey here, and a still finer one a few miles on, 
at Thomastown, most picturesquely situated amidst trees and 
meadow, on the river Nore. The place within, however, is 
dirty and ruinous — the same wretched suburbs, the same 
squalid congregation of beggarly loungers, that are to be seen 
elsewhere. The monastic ruin is very fine, and the road hence 
to Thomastown rich with varied cultivation and beautiful ver- 
dure, pretty gentlemen's mansions shining among the trees on 
either side, of the way. There was one place along this rich 
tract that looked very strange and ghastly — a huge old pair of 
gate pillars, flanked iDy a ruinous lodge, and a wide road wind- 
ing for a mile up a hill. There had been a park once, but all 
the trees were gone ; thistles were growing in the yellow sickly 
land, and rank thin grass on the road. Far away you saw in 
this desolate tract a ruin of a house : many a butt of claret has 
been emptied there, no doubt, and many a merry party come 
out with hound and horn. But what strikes the Englishman 
with wonder is not so much, perhaps, that an owner of the 
place should have been ruined and a spendthrift, as that the 
land should lie there useless ever since. If one is not success- 
ful with us another man will be, or another will try, at least. 
Here lies useless a great capital of hundreds of acres of land ; 
barren, where the commonest effort might make it productive, 
and lOoking as if for a quarter of a century past no soul ever 
looked or cared for it. You might travel five hundred miles 
through England and not see such a spectacle. 

A short distance from Thomastown is another abbey ; and 
presently, after passing through the village of Knocktopher, we 
came to a posting-place called Ballyhale, of the moral aspect 

21 



-^2 2 TY/iT IRISH SKETCn BOOK. 

of which the following scrap taken in the place v,'ill give a 
notion. 

A dirty, old, contented, decrepit idler was lolling in the sun 
at a shop door, and hundreds of the population of the dirty, old, 
decrepit, contented place were employed in the like way. A 
dozen of boys were inlaying at pitch-and-toss ; other male and 
female beggars were sitting on a wall looking into a stream; 
scores of ragamuffins, of course, round the carriage ; and- beg 
gars galore at the door of the- little ale-iiouse or: hotel.: -A 
gentleman's carriage changed horses as we were baiting here. 
It was a rich sight to see the cattle, and the way of -starting 
them : " Halloo ! Yoop— ^ — hoop ! " a dozen ragged ostlers and 
amateurs running by the side of the miserable old horses, the 
postilion shrieking, yelling, and belaboring them with his whip. 
Down goes one horse among the new-laid stones ; the postilion 
has him up with a cut of the whip and a curse, and takes ad- 
vantage of the start caused by the stumble to get the brute into 
a gallop, and to go down the hill. " I know it for a fact," a 
gentleman of our party says, "that no horses t'7W got out of 
Ballyhale without an accident of some kind." 

'•Will your honor like to come and see a big pig?" here 
asked a man of the above gentleman, well known as a great 
farmer and breeder. We all went to see the big pig, not very 
fat as yet, but, upon my word, it is as big as a pony. The 
country round is, it appears, famous for the breeding Df such, 
especially a district called the Welsh mountains, through which 
we had to pass on our road to Waterford. 

This is a curious country to see, and has curious inhabi- 
tants : for twenty miles there is no gentleman's house : gentle- 
men dare not live there. The place was originally tenanted by 
a clan of Welshes ; hence its name ; and they maintain them- 
selves in tiieir occupancy of the farms in Tipperary fashion, by 
simply putting a ball into the body of any man who would come 
to take a farm over any one of them. Some of the crops in the 
fields of the Welsh country seemed very good, and the fields 
well tilled ; but it is common to see, by the side of one field 
that is well cultivated, another that is absolutely barren ; and 
the whole tract is extremely wretched. Appropriate histories 
and reminiscences accompany the traveller: at a chapel near 
Mullinavat is the spot where sixteen policemen were murdered 
in the tithe-campaign ; farther on you come to a limekiln, where 
the guard of a mail-coach was seized and roastai alive. I saw 
here the first hedge-school I have seen : a crowd of half-sav- 
ao-e-lookinq; lads and twirls looked up from their studies in \h<c- 



rtcjb m I iiir SKETCH book. 323 

ditch, their college or lecture-room being in a mud cabin 
hard by. 

And likewise, in the midst of this wild tract, a fellow met 
us who was trudging the road with a fish-basket over his 
shoulder, and who stopped the coach, hailing two of the gentle- 
men in it by name, both of whom seemed to be much amused 
by his humor. He was a handsome rogue, a poacher, or 
salmon-taker, by profession, and presently poured out such a 
flood of oaths, and made such a monstrous display of grinning 
wit and blackguardism, as I have never heard equalled by the 
best Billingsgate practitioner, and as it would be more than 
useless to attempt to describe. Blessings, jokes, and curses 
trolled off the rascal's lips with a volubility which caused his 
ijrish audience to shout with laughter, but which were quite be- 
yond a cockney. It was a humor so purely national as to be 
understood by none but natives, I should think. I recollect 
the same feeling of perplexity while sitting, the only English- 
man, in a company of jocular Scotchmen. They bandied 
about puns, jokes, imitations, and applauded with shrieks of 
laughter what, I confess, appeared to me the most abominable 
dulness ; nor was the salmon-taker's jocularity any better. I 
think it rather served to frighten than to amuse ; and I am not 
sure but that I looked out for a band of jocular cutthroats of 
this sort to come up at a given guffaw, and playfully rob us all 
round. However, he went away quite peaceably, calling down 
for the party the benediction of a great number of saints, who 
must have been somewhat ashamed to be addressed by such a 
rascal. 

Presently we caught sight of the valley through which the 
Suir flows, and descended the hill towards it, and went over 
the thundering old wooden bridge to Waterford. 



CHAPTER IV. 

FROM WATERFORD TO CORK. 



The view of the town from the bridge and the heights above 
it is very imposing ; as is the river both ways. Very large 
vessels sail up almost to the doors of the houses^^nd the quays 
are flanked by tall red warehouses, thai look at a little distance 



32 4 ^-^^^ IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 

as if a world of business might be doing within them. But as. 
you get into the place,:fiot a soul is there to greet you, except 
the usual society of "beggars, and a sailor^or two, or a green- 
coated policeman sauntering down the broad pavement. We 
drove up to the " Coach Inn," a huge, handsome, dirty build- 
ing, of which the discomforts have been pathetically described 
elsewhere. The landlord is a gentleman and considerable 
horse-proprietor, and though a perfectly well-bred, active, and 
intelligent man, far too much of a gentleman to play the host 
well : at least as an Englishman understands that character. 

Opposite the town is a tower of questionable antiquity and 
undeniable ugliness ; for though the inscription says it was built 
in the year one thousand and something, the same document 
adds that it was rebuilt in 1819 — to either of which dates the 
traveller is thus welcomed. The quays stretch for a consider- 
able distance along the river, poor, patched-windowed, mouldy- 
looking shops forming the basement storey of most of the 
houses. We went into one, a jeweller's, to make a purchase^ 
it might have been of a gold watch for anything the owner 
knew ; but he was talking with a friend in his backparlor, gave 
us a look as we entered, allowed us to stand some minutes in 
the empty shop, and at length to walkout without being served. 
In another shop a boy was lolling behind a counter, but could 
not say whether the articles we wanted were to be had ; turned 
out a heap of drawers, and could not find them ; and finally 
went for the master, who could not come. True commercial 
independence, and an easy way enough of life. 

In one of the streets leading from the quay is a large, dingy 
Catholic chapel, of some pretensions within ; but, as usual, there 
had been a failure for want of money, and the front of the 
chapel was unfinished, presenting the butt-end of a portico, and 
walls on which the stone coating was to be laid. But a much 
finer ornament to the church than any of the questionable gew- 
gaws which adorned the ceiling was the piety, stern, simple, and 
unaffected, of the people within. Their whole soul seemed to 
be in their prayers, as rich and poor knelt indifferently on the 
flags. There is of course an episcopal cathedral, well and 
neatly kept, and a handsome Bishop's palace ; near it was a 
convent of nuns, and a little chapel-bell clinking melodiously. 
I was prepared to fancy something romantic of the place ; but 
as we passed the convent gate, a shoeless slattern of a maid 
opened the door — the most dirty and unpoetical of house- 
maids. 

Assizes were held in the town, and we ascended to th« 



i I J r. i i\ 1 .^1 1 .3 1\ i.j I \. 



5^^ 



court-house through a .stecj) street, a sort ol lag-fair, but more 
villanous and niiserable than any rac^-fair in St. Giles's : the 
houses and stock ot the Seven Dials look as if they belongf^d 
to capitalists when compared with the scarecrow wretchedness 
of the goods here hung out for sale. Wlio wanted to buy such 
things? I wondered. ' One would have though" that the most 
part of the articles had passed the possibility of barter 'for 
nioney, even out of the reach of the half-farthings coined of 
late. All the street was lined with wretched hucksters and 
their merchandise of gooseberries, green apples, children's 
dirty cakes, cheap crockeries, brushes, and tinware ; among 
which objects the people were swarming about busily. 

Before the court is a wide street, where a similar market 
was held, with a vast number of donkey-carts urged hither and 
thither, and great shrieking, chattering, and bustle. It is five 
hundred years ago since a poet who accompanied Richard II. 
in his voyage hither spoke of " Watrejorde ou moult vilaine et 
orde y sont la genie r They don't seem to be much changed 
now, but remain faithful to their ancient habits. 

About the court-house swarms of beggars of course were 
collected, varied by personages of a better sort : gray-coated 
farmers, and women with their picturesque blue cloaks, who 
had trudged in from the country probably. The court-house 
is as beggarly and ruinous as the rest of the neighborhood ; 
smart-looking policemen kept order about it, and looked ver> 
hard at me as I ventured to take a sketch. 

The figures as I saw them were accurately disposed. The 
man in the dock, the policeman seated easily above him, 
the woman looking down from a gallery. The man was ac- 
cused of stealing a sack of wool, and, having nO counsel, made 
for himself as adroit a defence as any one of the counsellors 
(they are without robes or wigs here, by the way,) could have 
made for him. He had been seen examining a certain sack of 
wool in a coffee-sb.op at Dungarvan, and next day was caught 
sight of in VVaterford I^/Iarket, standing under an archway from 
the rain, with the sack by his side. 

"Wasn't there twenty other people under the arch ? " said 
he to a witness, a noble-looking bcautiiul girl — the girl was 
obliged to ov/n there were. " Did you see me touch the wool, 
or stand nearer to it than a dozen of the dacent people there ?" 
anci the girl confessed she had not. " And this it is, my lord," 
says he to the bench, " they attack me because I am poor and 
ragged, but they never think of charging the crime on a rich 
farmer." 



THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 

But alas tor the defence ! another witness saw the pris- 
oner with his legs around the sack, and being about to charge 
him with the theft, ihe prisoner fled into the arms of a police- 
man, to whom his first words were, " I know nothing about the 
sack." So, as the sack had been stolen, as he had been seen 
handling it four minutes before it was stolen, and holding it 
for sale the day after, it was concluded that Patrick Malony 
had stolen the sack, and he was accommodated with eighteen 
months accordingly. 

In another case we had a woman and her child on the table ; 
and others followed, in the judgment of which it was impossible 
not to admire the extreme leniency, acuteness, and sensibility 
of the judge presiding, Chief Justice Pennefather : — the man 
against whom all the Liberals in Ireland, and every one else 
who has read his charge too, must be angry, for the ferocity of 
his charge against a Belfast newspaper editor. It seems as if 
no parties here will be dispassionate when they get to a party 
question, and that natural kindness has no claim when Whig 
and Tory come into collision. 

The witness is here placed on a table instead of a witness- 
bo.x ; nor was there much farther peculiarity to remark, except 
in the dirt of the court, the absence of the barristerial wig and 
gown, and the great coolness with which a fellow who seemed 
a sort of clerk, usher, and Irish interpreter to the court, recom- 
mended a prisoner, who was making rather a long defence, to 
be quiet. I asked him why the man might not have his say. 
" Sure," says he, " he's said all he has to say, and there's no 
use in any more." But there was no use in attempting to con- 
vince Mr. Usher that the prisoner was best judge on this point : 
in fact the poor devil shut his mouth at the admonition, and 
was found guilty with perfect iustice. 

A considerable poor-house has been erected at Waterford, 
but the beggars of the place as yet prefer their liberty, and less 
certain means of gaining support. We asked one who was 
calling down all the blessings of all the saints and angels upon 
us, and telling a most piteous tale of poverty, why she did not 
go to the poor-house. The woman's look at once changed 
from a sentimental whine to a grin. " Dey owe two hundred 
pounds at dat house," said she, '• and faith, an honest woman 
can't go dere." With which wonderful reason ought not the 
most squeamish to be content ? 

After describing, as accurately as words may, the features 
of a landscape, and stating that such _ a mountain was to the 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



327 



left, and such a river or town to the right, and putting down 
the situations and names of the villages, and the bearings of 
the roads, it has no doubt struck the reader of books of travels 
that the writer has not given him the slightest idea of the coun- 
try, and that he would have been just as wise without perusing 
the letter-press landscape through which he has toiled. It will 
be as well then, under such circumstances, to spare the public 
any lengthened description of the road from Watcrford to Dun- 
garvan ; which was the road we took, followed by benedictions 
delivered gratis from the beggarhood of the former city. Not 
very far from it you see the dark plantations of the magnificent: 
domain of Curraghmore, and pass through acountr}^ blue, hilly, 
and bare, except where gentlemen's seats appear with, their or> 
naments of wood. Presently, after leaving Waterford, v/e came 
to a certain town called Kilmacthomas, of which all the infor- 
mation I have to give is, that it is situated upon a hill and 
river, and that you may change horses there. The road was 
covered with carts of seaweed, which the people were bringing 
for manure from the shore some four miles distant ; and beyond 
Kilmacthomas we beheld the Cummeragh Mountains, "often 
named in maps the Nennavoulagh," either of which names the 
reader may select at pleasure. 

Thence we came to " Cushcam," at which village be it 
known that the turnpike-man kept the drag a very long time 
waiting. " I think the fellow must be writing a book," said the 
coachman, with a most severe look of drollery at a cockney 
tourist, who tried, under the circumstances, to blush, and not 
to laugh. I wish I could relate or remember half the mad 
jokes that flew about among the jolly Irish crew on the top of 
the coach, and v/hich would have made a journey through the 
Desert jovial, When the 'pike-man had finished his composi- 
tion (that of a turnpike-ticket, which he had to fill,) we drove; 
on to Dungarvan \ the two parts of which town, separated by 
the river Colligan, have been joined by a causeway three hun- 
dred yards along, and a bridge erected at an enormous outlay 
by the Duke of Devonshire. In former times, before his Grace 
spent his eighty thousand pounds upon the causeway, this wide 
estuary v/as called "Dungarvan Prospect," because the ladies 
of the country, walking over the river at low water, took off 
their shoes and stockings (such as had them), and tucking up 
their clothes, exhibited — what I have never seen, and cannot 
therefore be expected to describe. A large and handsome 
Catholic- chapel, a square with some pretensions to regularity 
of buildihg, a very neat and comfortable inn, and beggars and 



228 THE IRISH SHE TCH B O OK. 

idlers still more numerous than at Waterford, were what we 
nad leisure to remark in half an hour's stroll through the town. 

Near the prettily situated village of Cappoquin is the Trappist 
House of Mount Meilleraie, of which we could only see the pinna- 
cles. The brethren were presented some years since with a 
barren mountain, which they have cultivated most successfully. 
They have among themselves workmen to supply all their frugal 
wants : ghostly tailors and shoemakers, spiritual gardeners and 
bakers, working in silence, and serving heaven after their wayc 
If this reverend communit}-, for fear of the opportunity of sin- 
ful talk, choose to hold their tongues, the next thing will be to 
cut them out altogether, and so render the danger impossible : 
if, being men of education and intelligence, they incline to turn 
butchers and cobblers, and smother their intellects by base and 
hard menial labor, who knows but one day a sect may be more 
pious stil], and rejecting even butchery and bakery as savor- 
ing too much of worldly convenience and pride, take to a wild- 
beast life at once ? Let us concede that suffering, and mental 
and bodily debasement, are the things most agreeable to heaven, 
and there is no knowing where such piety may stop. I was 
very glad we had not time to see the grovelling place ; and as 
for seeing shoes made or fields tilled by reverend amateurs, w^ 
can find cobblers and ploughboys to do the work better. 

By the way, the Quakers have set up in Ireland a sort of 
monkery of their own. Not far from Carlow we met a couple 
of cars drawn by white horses, and holding white Quakers and 
Quakeresses, in white hats, clothes, shoes, with wild maniacal- 
looking faces, bumpi-ng along the road. Let us hope that we 
may soon get a community of Fakeers and howling Dervishes 
into the country. It would be a refreshing thing to see such 
ghostly men in one's travels, standing at the corners of roads 
and praising the Lord by standing on one leg, or cutting and 
liacking themselves with knives like the prophets of Baal.. Is 
it not as pious for a man to deprive himself of his leg as of his 
tongue, and to disiigure his body with the gashes of a knife, as 
with the hideous white raiment of the illuminated Quakers ? 

Wliile these reilections were going on, the beautiful Black- 
water river suddenly opened before us, and driving along it for 
three miles through some of the most beautiful, 'i^li country 
ever seen, we Ciiane to Lismore. Nothing can be certainly 
more magnificent than this drive. Parks and rocks' covered 
with the grandest foliage ; rich, liandsome seats of gentlemen^ 
in the midst of fair lawns and beautiful bright plantations an<J 
shrubberies j and at the end, the graceful spire of Lismore churchy 



TlfK IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 329 

the prettiest 1 have seen in, or, I think, out of Ireland. Nor 
in any country that I have visited have I seen a view more 
noble — it is too rich and peaceful to be what is called romantic, 
but lofty, large, and generojis, if the term may be used ; the 
river and banks as fine as the Rhine ; the castle not as large, 
but as noble and picturesque as Warwick. As you pass the 
bridge, the banks stretch away on either side in amazing ver- 
dure, and the cast] j walks remind one somewhat of the dear old 
terrace of St Germains, with its groves, and long grave avenues 
of trees. 

The salmon-iishery of the Blackwater is let, as I hear, for a 
thousand a year. In the evening, however, we saw some gen- 
tlemen w^ho are likely to curtail the profits of the farmer of 
the fishery — a company of ragged boys, to wit — whose occupa- 
tion, it appears, is to poach. These young fellows were all lolling 
over the bridge, as the moon rose rather mistily, and pretended 
to be deeply enamored of the view of the river. They answered 
the questions of one of our party with the utmost innocence and 
openness, and one would have supposed the lads were so many 
Arcadians, but for the arrival of an old woman, who suddenly 
coming up among them poured out, upon one and all, a volley 
of curses, both deep and loud, saying that perdition would be 
their portion, and calling them " shchamers " at least a hun- 
dred times. Much to my wonder, the young men did not reply 
to the voluble old lady for some time, who then told us the 
cause of her anger. She had a son, — " Look at him there, the 
villain." The lad was standing, looking very unhappy. " His 
father, that's now dead, paid a fistful of money to bind him 
•prentice at Dungarvan ; but the shchamers followed him there ; 
made him break his indentures, and go poaching and thieving 
and shchaming with them. The poor old woman shook her 
hands in the air, and shouted at the top of her deep voice: 
there was something very touching in her grotesque sorrow ; nor 
did the lads make light of it at all, contenting themselves with 
a surly growl, or an oath, if directly appealed to by the poor 
creature. 

So, cursing and raging, the woman went away. The son, a 
lad of fourteen, evidently the fag of the big bullies round about 
him, stolid dismally away from them, his head sunk down. 1 
went up and asked him, "Was that his mother.''" He said, 
" Oh yes." " Why not come back to her ? " I asked him ; 
but he said "he couldn't." Whereupon I took his arm, and 
tried to lead him away by main force ; but he said, " Thank 
you, sir, but I can't go back," and released his arm. We 



3 3 o THE IR I Sir S A 'E / .f // B 00 K 

Stood on the bridge some minutes longer, looking at the view \ 
but the boy, though he kept away from his comrades, would 
liot come. I wonder what they have done together, that the 
poor boy is past going home The place seemed to be so quiet 
and beautiful, and far away from London, that I thought crime 
couldn't have reached it ; and yet here it lurks somewhere 
among six boys of sixteen, each with a stain in hi;> heart, and 
some black history to tell. The poor widow's yonder was the 
only family about which I had a chance of knowing anythuig in 
this remote place ; na}^ in all Ireland : and God help us, hers 
was a sad lot ! — A husband gone dead, — an only child gone to 
juin. It is aw^ul to think that there are eight millions of 
stories to be told in this Island. Seven wnillion nine hundred 
and ninet\'-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight more 
lives that 1, and all brother cockneys, know nothing aboul. 
Well, please God, they are not all like this. 

That day, I heard ivwther history. A little old disreputable 
man in tatters, with a huge steeple of a hat, came shambling 
down the street, one among the five hundred blackguards there 
A fellow standing under the " Sun " portico (a sort of swagger 
ing, chattering, cringing toiitcr^ and master of ceremonies to 
the gutter.) told us something with regard to the old disrejD- 
utable man. His son had been hanged the day before at Clou- 
mel, for one of the Tipperary murders. That blackguard in our 
eyes instantly looked quite different from all other black- 
guards : I saw him gesticulating at the corner of a street, and 
watched him with wonderful interest. 

The church with the handsome spire, that looks so grace- 
ful among the trees, is a cathedral church, and one of the 
neatest kept and prettiest edifices I have seen in Ireland. In 
the old graveyard Protestants and Catholics lie together — that 
is, not together ; for each has a side of the ground where they 
sleep, and, so occupied, do not quarrel. The sun was shining 
down upon the brilliant grass — and I don't think the shadows 
of the Protestant graves were any longer or any shorter than 
those of the Catholics ? Is it the right or the left side of the 
graveyard which is nearest heaven 1 wonder.? Look, the sun 
shines upon both alike, " and the blue sky bends over all." 

Raleigh's house is approached by a grave old avenue, and 
well-kept wall, such as is rare in this country ; and the court 
of the castle within has the solid, comfortable, quiet look, 
equally rare. It is like one of our colleges at Oxford : there 
is a side of the quadrangle with pretty ivy-covered gables : an- 
other part of the square is more modern ; and by the main 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOO FT. 3^ I 

body of the castle is a small chapel exceedingly picturesque. 
The interior is neat and in excellent order ; but it was un- 
luckily done up some thirty years ago (as 1 imagine from the 
style), before our architects had learned Gothic, and all the 
ornamental work is consequently quite ugly and out of keeping. 
The church has probably been arranged by the same hand. 
In the castle are some plainly-furnished chambers, one or two 
good pictures, and a couple of oriel windows, the views from 
which up and down the river are exceedingly lovely. You 
hear praises of the Duke of Devonshire as a landlord where- 
ever you go among his vasi estates ; it is a pity that with such 
a noble residence as this, and witl-^such a wonderful country 
round about it, his Grace should not inhabit it more. 

Of the road from Lismore to Fermoy it does not behove 
me to say much, for a pelting rain came on verj/ soon after we 
quitted the former place, and accompanied us almost without 
ceasing to Fermoy. Here we had a glimpse of a bridge across 
the Blackwater, which we had skirted in our journey from Lis- 
more. Now enveloped in mist and cloud, now spanned by a 
rainbow, at another time, basking in sunshine. Nature attired 
the charming prospect for us in a score of different ways ; and 
it appeared before us like a coquettish beauty who was trying 
what dress in her wardrobe might most become her. ,At Fer- 
moy we saw a vast barrack, and an overgrown inn, where, how- 
ever, good fare was provided ; and thence hastening came by 
Rathcormack, and Watergrass Hill, famous for the residence of 
Father Prout, whom my friend the Rev. Francis Sylvester has 
made immortal ; from which descending we arrived at the 
beautiful wooded village of Glanmire, with its mills, and 
steeples, and streams, and neat school-houses, and pleasant 
country residences. This brings us down upon the superb 
stream which leads from the sea to Cork. 

The view for three miles on both sides is magnificently 
beautiful. Fine gardens, and parks, and villas cover the shore 
on each bank ; the river is full of brisk craft, moving to the 
city or out to sea ; and the city fmely ends the view, rising 
upon two hills on either side of the stream. I do not knov/ a 
town to which there is an entrance more beautiful, commodious, 
and stately. 

Passing by numberless handsome lodges, and near the city, 
many terraces in neat order, the road conducts us near a large 
tract of some hundred acres which have been reclaimed from 
the sea, and are destined to form a park and pleasure-ground 
for the citizens of Cork. In the river, and up to riie bridge, 



332 THE fJUSH SKETCfl BOOK. 

some hundreds of ships were lying; and a fleet of steamboats 
opposite the handsome house of the St. George's Steam-Packet 
Company. A church stands prettily on the hill above it, sur- 
rounded by a number of new habitations very neat and white. 
On the road is a handsome Roman Catholic chapel, or a 
chapel which will be handsome so soon as the necessary funds 
are- raised to complete it. But, as at Waterford, the c :apel 
has been commenced, and the money has failed, and the fine 
portico which is to decorate it one day, as yet only exists on 
the architect's paper. Saint Patrick's Bridge, ove*- which we 
pass, is a pretty building ; and Patj-ick Street, the main street 
of the town, has an air oCbusiness and cheerfulness, and looks 
densely thronged. 

As the carriage drove up to thos^i neat, comfortable, and 
extensive lodgings which Mrs. MacO'Pjoy has to let, a mag- 
nificent mob was formed round the vehicle, and we had an 
opportunity of at once making acquaintance with some of the 
dirtiest rascally faces that all Ireland presents. Besides these 
professional rogues and beggars, who make a point to attend 
on all vehicles, everybody else seemed to stop too, to see that 
wonder, a coach and four horses. People issued from their 
shops, heads appeared at windows. I have seen the Queen 
pass in state in London, and not bring tooether a crowd near 
so great as that which assembled in the busiest street of the 
second city of the kingdom, just to look at a green coach and 
four bay-horses. Have they nothing else to do t — or is it that 
they will do nothing else but stare, swagger, and be idle in the 
streets ? 



CHAPTER V. 

CORK THE AGRICULTURAL SHOW FATHER MATHEW. 

A MAN has no need to be an agriculturiit in order to take 
a warm interest in the success of the Irish Agricultural So- 
ciety, and to see what vast good may result from it to the 
country. The National Education scheme — a noble and 
liberal one, at least as far as a stranger can see, which might 
have united the Irish people, and brought peace into this most 
distracted of all countries — failed unhappily of one of its 
greatest ends. The Protestant clergy have always treated the 
plan with bitter hostility ; and I do belie\'e, in withdrawing 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 333 

from it, have struck the greatest blow to themselves as a body, 
and to their own influence in the country, which has been deali 
to them for many a year. Rich, charitable, pious, well-edu- 
cated, to be found in every parish in Ireland, had they chosen 
to fraternize with the people and the plan, they might have 
directed the educational movement; they might have attained 
the influence which is now given over entirely to the priests \ 
and when the present generation, educated in the national- 
schools, were grown up to manhood, they might have had an 
interest in almost every man in Ireland, Are they as pious, 
and more polished, and better educated than their neighbors 
the priests ? There is no doubt of it ; and by constant com- 
munion with the people they would have gained all the' bene- 
fits of the comparison, and advanced the interests of their 
religion far more than now they can hope to do. Look at the 
national-school : throughout the country it is commonly by the 
chapel side — it is a Catholic school, directed and fostered by 
the priests ; and as no people are more eager for learning, 
more apt to receive it, or more grateful for kindness than the 
Irish, he gets all the gratitude of the scholars who flock to the 
school, and all the future influence over them, which naturally 
and justly comes to him. The Protestant wants to better the 
condition of these people : he says that the woes of the coun- 
try are owing to its prevalent religion ; and in order to carry 
his plans of amelioration into effect, he obstinately refuses to 
hold communion with those whom he is desirous to convert to 
what he believes are sounder principles and purer doctrines. 
The clergyman will reply that points of principle prevent him : 
with this fatal doctrinal objection, it is not, of course, the prov- 
ince of a layman to meddle ; but this is clear, that the parson 
mi2:ht have had an influence over the countr^^ and he would 
not ; that he might have rendered the Catholic population 
friendly to him, and he would not ; but, instead, has added one" 
cause of estrangement and hostility more to the many which 
already exist against him. This is one of the attempts at 
union in Ireland, and one can't but think with the deepest 
regret and sorrow of its failure. 

Mr. O'Connell and his friends set going another scheme for 
advancing the prosperity of the country, — the notable project 
of home manufactures, and a coalition against foreign impor- 
tation. This was a union certainly, but a union of a different 
sort to that noble and peaceful one which the National Educa- 
tion Board proposed. It was to punish England, while it pre- 
tended to secure the independence of Ireland, by shutting out 



334 ^^^ IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

our manufactures from the Irish markets ; whicli were one day 
or other, it was presumed, to be . filled by native produce. 
Large bodies of tradesmen and private persons, in Dublin and 
other towns in Ireland associated together, vowing to purchase 
no articles of ordinary consumption or usage but what were 
manufactured in the country. This bigoted, old-world scheme 
of restriction — not much more liberal than Swing's crusade 
against the threshing-machines, or the coalition in England 
against machinery — failed, as it deserved to do. For the bene- 
fit of a few tradesmen, who might find their account in selling 
at dear rates their clumsy and imperfect manufactures, it was 
found impossible to tax a people that are already poor enough ; 
nor did the party take into account the cleverness of the mer- 
chants across sea, who were by no means disposed to let go 
their Irish customers. The famous Irish frieze uniform which 
was to distinguish these patriots, and which Mr. O'Connell 
lauded so loudly and so simply, came over made at half-price 
from Leeds and Glasgow, and w'as retailed as real Irish by 
many worthies who had been first to join the union. You may 
still see shops here and there wdth their pompous announce- 
ment of " Irish Manufactures ; " but the scheme has long gone 
to ruin : it could not stand against the vast force of English 
and Scotch capital and machinery, any more than the Ulster 
spinning-wheel against the huge factories and steam-engines 
which one may see about Belfast. 

The scheme of the Agriqultural Society is a much more 
feasible one ; and if, please God, it can be carried out, likely to 
give not only prosperity to the country, but union likewise in a 
great degree. As yet Protestants and Catholics concerned in 
it have worked well together ; and it is a blessing to see them 
meet upon any ground without heart-burning and quarrellingi 
Last year, Mr. Purcell, who is well known in Ireland as the 
principal mail-coach contractor for the country, — v/ho himself 
employs more workmen in Dublin than perhaps any other person 
there, and has also more land under cultivation than most of 
the great landed proprietors in the country, — wrote a letter to 
the newspapers, giving his notions of the fallacy of the exclu- 
sive-dealing system, and pointing out at the same tim.e how lie- 
considered the country might be benefited — by agricultural im- 
provement, namely. He spoke of the neglected state of the 
country, and its amazing natural fertility ; and, for the benefit 
of all, called upon the landlords and landholders to use theit 
interest and develop its vast agricultural resources. Manufac- 
tures are at best but of slow growth, and demand not only 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



335 



time, but capital ; meanwhile, until the habits of the people 
should grow to be such as to render manufactures feasible^ there 
was a great neglected treasure, lying under their feet, which 
might be the source of prosperity to all. He pointed out the 
superior methods of husbandry employed in Scotland and Eng- 
land, and the great results obtained upon soils naturally much 
poorer ; and, taking t!:e Highland Society for an example, the 
establishment of which had done so much for the prosperity of 
Scotland, he proposed the formation in Ireland of a similar 
association. 

The letter made an extraordinary' sensation throughout the 
country. Noblemen and gentry of all sides took it up ; and 
numbers of these wrote 'o Mr. Purcell, and gave him their 
cordial adhesion to the plan. A meeting wa^ held, and the 
Society formed ; subscriptions were set on fcc , headed by the 
Lord Lieutenant (P'ortescue) and the Duke oi Leinster, each 
with a donation of 200/. ; and the trustees had soon 5,000/. at 
their disposal : with, besides, an annual' revenue of 1,000/. The 
subscribed capital is funded ; and political subjects strictly 
excluded. The Society has a show yearly in one of the prin- 
cipal tov;ns of Ireland : it corresponds with the various local 
agricultural associations throughout the country ; encourages 
the formation of new ones ; and distributes prizes and rewards. 
It has further in contemplation, to establish a large Agricultural 
school for farmers' sons ; and has formed in Dublin an Agricul- 
tural Bazaar and Museum. 



It was the first meeting of the Society which we were come 
to see at Cork. Will it be able to carry its excellent intentions 
into effect .<* Will the present enthusiasm of its founders and 
members continue ? Will one political party or another \iQ.\. 
the upper hand in it ? One can't help thinking of these points 
with some anxiet}^ — of the latter especially : as yet, happily, 
the clergy of either side have kept aloof, and the union seems 
pretty cordial and sincere. 

There are in Cork, as no doubt in every town of Ireland 
sufficiently considerable to support a plurality of hotels, some 
especially devoted to the Conservative and Liberal parties. 
Two dinners were to l:e given apropos of the Agricultural meet- 
ing ; and in order to conciliate all parties, it was determined 
that the Tory landlord should find the cheap ten-shilling dinner 
for one thousand, the Whig landlord the genteel guinea dinnei 
for a few select hundreds. 



^^6 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

I wish Mr. Cuif, of the " Freemasons' Tavern," could have 
been at Cork to take a lesson from the latter gentleman : for he 
would have seen that there are means of having not merely 
enough to eat, but enough of the very best, for the sum of a 
guinea ; that persons can have not only Vv^ine, but good wine, 
and if inclined (as some topers are on great occasions) to pass 
to another bottle, — a second, a third, or a fiteenth bottle, for 
what I know is very much at their service. It was a fine sight 
to see Mr. MacDowall presiding over an ice-well and extracting 
the bottles of champagne. With what calmness he did it ! 
How the corks popped, and the liquor fizzed, and the agricul- 
turalists drank the bumpers off ! And how good the wine was 
too — the greatest merit of all ! Mr. MacDowall did credit to 
his liberal politics by his liberal dinner. 

" Sir," says a waiter whom I asked for currant-jelly for the 
haunch — (there were a dozen such smoking on various parts of 
the table— think of that, Mr. Cuff !)— " Sir," says the waiter, 
*' there's no jelly, but I've brought you some very fine lobster- 
sauced I think this was the most remarkable speech of the 
evening; not excepting that of my Lord Bernard, who, to three 
hundred gentlemen more or less connected with farming, had 
actually the audacity to quote the words of the great agricul- 
tural poet of Rome — 

" O /ortu7tatos nitnium sua s/,^' <5r-"c. 

How long are our statesmen in England to continue to back 
their opinions by the Latin grammar } Are the Irish agricul- 
turalists so very happy, if they did but know it — at least those 
out of doors? Well, those within were jolly enough. Cham- 
pagne and claret, turbot and haunch, are gifts of the jusfissima 
tellus^ with which few husbandmen will be disposed to quarrel : 
• — no more let us quarrel either with eloquence after dinner. 

If the Liberal landlord had shown his principles in his 
dinner, the Conservative certainly showed his ; by conserving 
as much profit as possible for himself. We sat down one thou- 
sand to some two hundred and fifty cold joints of meat. Every 
iiian vv'as treated with a joint of wine, and very bad too, so that 
there was the less cause to grumble because more was not 
served. Those agriculturalists who had a mind to drink whiskey- 
and-water had to pay extra for their punch. Nay, after shout- 
ing in vain for half an hour to a waiter for some cold water, the 
unhappy writer could only get it by promising a shilling. The 
sum was paid on delivery of the article ; but as everybody 



THE IRISH Sk'ETCn BOOK'. 



337 



round was thirsty too, I got 1)ut a glassLul from the decanter, 
which only served to make me long for more. The waiter (the 
rasCal !) promised more, but never came near us afterwards : he 
had got his shilling, and so he left us in a hot room, surrounded 
by a thousand hot fellow-creatures, one of them making a dry 
speech. The agriculturalists were not on this occasion nimium 

fortumiti. 

To have heard a nobleman, however, who discoursed to the 
meeting, you would have fancied that we were the luckiest 
mortals under the broiling July sun. He said he could con- 
ceive nothing more delightful than to see, "on proper occa- 
sions,"— (mind on proper occasions I) — " the landlord mixing, with 
his tenantry ; and to look around him at a scene like this, and 
see t/ie condescension with which the gentry mingled with the 
farmers ! " Prodigious condescension truly ! This neat speech 
seemed to me an oratorio slap on the face to about nine hun- 
dred and seventy persons present ; and being one of the latter, 
I began to hiss by way of acknowledgment of the compliment, 
and hoped .that a strong party would have destroyed the har- 
mony of the evening, and done likewise. But not one heredi- 
tary bondsman would join in the compliment — and they were 
quite right too. The old lord who talked about condescension 
is one of the greatest and kindest landlords in Ireland. If he 
thinks he condescends by doing his duty and mixing with men 
as good as himself, the fault lies with the latter. Why are they 
so ready to go down on their knees to my lord ? A man can't 
help " condescending " to another who will persist in kissing 
his shoestrings. They respect rank in England — the people 
seem almost to adore it here. 

As an instance of the intense veneration for lords which 
distinguishes this county of Cork, I may mention what occurred 
afterwards. The members of the Cork Society gave a din er 
to their guests of the Irish Agricultural Association. Ihe 
founder of the latter, as Lord Downshire stated, was Mr. Pur- 

.cell : and as it was agreed on all hands that the Society so 
founded was likely to prove of the greatest benefit to the 
countr}^, one might have supposed that any com.pliment paid to 
it might have been paid to it through its founder. Not so. 
The society asked the lords to dine, and Mr. Purcell to meet 
the lords. 

After the grand dinner came a grand ball, which was indeed 
one of the gayest and prettiest sights ever seen ; nor was it the 
less agreeable, because the ladies of the city mixed with the 
ladies from the country, and vied with them in grace and 



338 THE IKISH SKETCH BOOK. 

beauty. The charming gayety and frankness of the Irish ladies 
have been noted and admired by every foreigner who has had 
the good fortune to mingle in their society; and I hope *t is 
not detracting from the merit of the upper classes to say that 
the lower are not a whit less pleasing. I never saw in any 
country such a general grace of manner and ladyhood. In the 
midst of their gayety, too, it must be remembered that they are 
the chastest of women, and that no country in Europe can boast 
-of .such a general purity. 

In regard of the Munster ladies, I had the pleasure to be 
present at two or three evening-parties at Cork, and must say 
that they seem to excel the English ladies not only in wit and 
vivacit}^, but in the still more important article of the toilette;- 
They are as well dressed as Frenchwomen, and incomparably 
handsomer; and if ever this book reaches a thirtieth edition, 
and I can find out better words to express admiration, they 
shall be inserted here. Among the ladies' accomplishments, I 
may mention that I have heard in two or three private families- 
such tine music as is rarely to be met with out of a capital. In 
one house w^e had a supper and songs afterwards, in the old- 
honest fashion. Time was in Ireland when the custom was a 
common one ; but the world grows languid as it grows genteel ; 
and I fancy it requires more than ordinary spirit and courage 
now for a good old gentleman, at the head of his kind family 
table, to strike up a good old family song. 

The delightful old gentleman wlo sung the song here men- 
tioned could not help talking of the Temperance movement 
with a sort of regret, and said that all the fun had gone out of 
Ireland since Father Mathew banished the whiskey from it. 
Indeed, any stranger going amongst the people can perceive 
that they are now anything but gay. I have seen a great number 
of crowds and meetings of people in all parts of Ireland, and 
found them all gloomy. There is nothing like the merry-mak- 
ing one reads of in the Irish novels. Lever and Maxwell must 
be taken as chroniclers of the old times — the pleasant but 
wrong old times — for which one can't help having an antiqua- 
rian fondness. 

On the day we arrived at Cork, and as the passengers de- 
scended from "tlie drag," a stout, handsome, honest-looking 
man, of some two-and-forty years, was passing by, and received 
a number of bows from the crowd around. It was Theobald 
Mathew with whose face a thousand little print-shop windows had 
already rendered me familiar. He shook hands with tli^ master 
of the carriage very cordially, and just as cordially with the 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 



339 



master's coachman, a disciple of temperance, as at least half 
Ireland is at present. The day after the famous dinner at 
Mac'Dowall's, some of us came down rather late, perhaps in 
consequence of the events of the night before — (i think it was 
Lord Bernard's quotation from Virgil, or else the absence of 
the CLirrant-jelly for the venison, that occasioned a slight head- 
ache among some of us, and an extreme longing for soda- 
water,) — and there was the Apostle of Temperance seated at 
the table drinking tea. Some of us felt a little ashamed of 
ourselves, and did not like to ask somehow for the soda-water 
in such an awful presence as that. Besides, it would have 
been a confession to a Catholic priest, and, as a Protestant, I 
am above it. 

The world likes to know how a great man appears even to 
a valet-de-chambre, and I suppose it is one's vanity that is 
Mattered in such rare company to find the great man quite as 
unassuming as the very ^^allest personage present ; and so 
like to other mortals, that we would not know him to be a great 
man at all, did we not know his name, and what he had done. 
There is nothing remarkable in Mr. Mathew's manner, except 
that it is exceedingly simple, hearty, and manly, and that he 
does not wear the downcast, demure look which, I know not 
why, certainly characterizes the chief part of the gentlemen of 
his profession. Whence comes that general scowl which 
darkens the faces of the Irish priesthood ? I have met a score 
of these reverend gentlemen in the country, and not one of 
them seemed to look or speak frankl}^ except Mr. Mathew, 
and a couple more. He is almost the only man, too, that I 
have met in Ireland, who, in speaking of public matters, did 
not talk as a pardsan. With the state or the country, of land- 
lord, tenant, and peasantry, he seemed to be most curiously and 
intimately acquainted ; speaking of their wants, differences, 
and the means of bettering them, with the minutest practical 
knowledge. x\nd it was impossible in hearing him to know, 
but from previous acquaintance with his character, whether he 
v/as Whig or Tory, Catholic or Protestant. Why does not 
Government make a Privy Councillor of him ? — that is, if lie 
would honor the Right Honorable body by taking a seat 
amongst them. His knovv'ledge of the people is prodigious, and 
their confidence in him as great ; and what a touching attach- 
ment that is which these poor fellows show to anyone who has 
their cause at heart — even to any one who says he has ! 

Avoiding all political questions, no man seems more eager 



340 ^-^/^■' //^'/-V// SKEl'CII BOOK. 

than he for the practical iir.provement uf tiii^ counlry. Leases' 
and rents, fanning improvements, reading societies, music 
societies — he was full of these, and of hij Lxhemes of temper- 
ance abo\-e all. He never misses a chance of making a con-^ 
vert, and has his hand ready and a pledge in his -}x:cket for, 
sick or poor. One of his disciples in a livery-coat came \■^\o^: 
the room with a (ray — Mr. Mathev*^ recognized him, and shook 
him by the hand direclly ; so he did with the strangers who 
were presented to him ; and not with a courtly popularity-hunt- 
ing air, but, as it seemed, from sheer hearty kindness, and a 
desire to do everyone good. 

When breakfast was done — (he took but one cup of tea, and 
says that, from having been a great consumer of tea and re- 
freshing liquids before, a small cup of tea, and one glass of 
water at dinner, now serve him for his day's beverage)^— he' 
took the ladies of our party to see his burying-ground — a new 
and handsome cemetery, lying a littte way out of the town, and 
where, thank God ! Protestants and Catholics may lie together, 
without clergymen quarrelling over their coffins. 

It is a handsome piece of ground, and was formerly a bo- 
tanic garden ; but the funds failed for that undertaking, as they 
have for a thousand other public enterprises in this poor dis' 
united country ; and so it has been converted into a hortus 
sucus for us mortals. There is alread\^ a pretty large collection. 
In the midst is a place for Mathew himself — honor to Iiim 
living or dead ! Meanwhile, numerous stately monuments 
have been built, flowers planted here and there over dear re- 
mains, and the garden in which they lie is rich, green, and 
beautiful. Here is a fine statue, by Hogan, of a weeping- 
genius that broods over the tomb of an honest merchant and 
clothier of the city. He took a liking to the artist, his fellow- 
townsman, and ordered his own monument, and had the grati- 
fication to see it arrive from Rome a few weeks before his 
death. A prettier thing even than the statue is the tomb of a 
little boy, which has been shut in by a large and curious grille 
of iron work. The father worked it, a blacksmith, whose* darl- 
ing the child was, and he spent three years in hammering out 
this mausoleum. It is the beautiful story of the pot of oint- 
ment told again at the blacksmith's anvil ; and who can but 
like him for placing this fine gilded cage over the body of his 
poor little one ? Presently you come to a Frenchwoman's tomb, 
with a French epitaph by a French husband, and a pot of arti 
ficial flowers in a niche — a wig, and a pot of rouge^ as it were, 



THE JR ISH SKE 7 CH B 00 A'. 341 

just to make the dead look passably well. It is his manner of 
showing his sympathy for an immortal soul that has passed 
away. The poor may be buried here for nothing ; and here, 
too, once more thank God ! each may rest without priests or 
parsons scowling heli-fire at his neighbor unconscious under 
the grass. 



CHAPTER VI. 

CORiC THE URSULINE CONVENT. 

There is a large Ursuline convent at Blackrock, near Cork, 
and a lady who had been educated there was kind enough to 
invite me to join a party to visit the place. Was not this a 
great privilege for a heretic .^ I have peeped into convent 
chapels abroad, and occasionally caught glimpses of a white 
veil or a black gown ; but to see the pious ladies in their own 
retreat was quite a novelty — -much more exciting than the ex- 
hibition of Long Horns and Short Horns by which we had to 
pass on our road to Blackrock. 

The three miles' ride is very pretty. As far as nature goes, 
she has done her best for the neighborhood ; and the noble 
hills on the opposite coast of the river, studded with innumer- 
able pretty villas and garnished with fine trees and meadows, 
the river itself dark blue under a brilliant cloudless heaven, 
and lively with its multiplicity of gay craft, accompany the 
traveller along the road ; except here and there wdiere the view 
is shut out by fine avenues of trees, a beggarly row of cottages, 
or a villa wall. Rows of dirty cabins, and smart bankers' 
country-houses, meet one at every turn ; nor do the latter want 
for fine names, you may be sure. The Irish grandiloquence 
displays itself finely in the invention of such ! and, to the great 
inconvenience, I should think, of the postman, the names of 
the houses appear to change with the tenants : for I saw many 
old houses with new placards in front, setting forth the /asi 
title of the house. 

1 had the box of the carriage (a smart vehicle that would 
have done credit to the ring), and found the gentleman by my 
side very communicative. He named the owners of the pretty 
mansions and lawns visible on the other side of the river ; they 
appear almost all to be merchants, who have made their for- 



342 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

tunes in the city. In the lilce manner, though the air of the 
town is extremely fresh and jDure to a pair of London lungs^ 
the Cork shopkeeper is not satisfied with it, but contrives for 
himself a place (with an euphonious name, no doubt) in the 
suburbs of the city. These stretch to a great extent along the 
beautiful, liberal-looking banks of the stream. 

I asked the man about the Temperance, and whether he 
was a temperance man ? He replied by pulling a medal out 
of his waistcoat pocket, saying that he always carried it about 
with him for fear of temptation. He said that he took the 
pledge two years ago, before which time, as he confessed, he 
had been a sad sinner in the way of drink. " I used to take,", 
said he, ''from eighteen to twenty glasses of whiskey a day; 
I was always at the drink ; I'd be often up all night at the pub- 
lic : I was turned away by my present master on account of 
it ; " — and all of a sudden he resolved to break it off. I asked 
him whether he had not at first experienced ill-health from the 
suddenness of the change in his habits ; but he said — and let 
all persons meditating a conversion from liquor remember the 
fact — that the abstinence never affected him in the least, but 
that he went on growing better and better in health every day, 
stronger and more able of mind and bod)^ 

The man was a Catholic, and in speaking of the numerous;, 
places of worship along the road as we passed, I'm sorry to' 
confess, dealt some rude cuts with his whip regarding the Prot-' 
estants. Coachman as he was, the fellow's remarks seeme4 
to be correct : for it appears that the religious world of Cork 
is of so excessively enlightened a kind, that one church will, 
not content one pious person ; but that, on the contrary, they 
will be at Church of a morning, at Independent church of an. 
afternoon, at a Darbyite congregation of an evening, and so on,, 
gathering excitement or information from all sources which they 
could come at. Is not this the case ? are not some of th^ 
ultra-serious as eager after a new preacher, as the ultra-worldly^ 
for a new dancer ? don't they talk and gossip about him as 
much ? Though theology from the coach-box is rather quesr 
tionable, (after all, the man was just as rnuch authorized to 
propound his notions as many a fellow from an amateur pulpit,]^ 
yet he certainly had the right here as far as his charge again^. 
certain Protestants went. ; 

The reasoning from it Avas quite obvious, and I'm sure w^$, 
in the man's mind, though he did not utter it, as we drove by 
this time into the convent gate. " Here," says coachman, " is 
our church, /don't drive my master and mistress from church 



Tim IR ISIJ SKE TCI I J> O K. 3 43 

to chapel, from chapel to conventicle, hunting after new preach- 
ers every Sabbath. I bring them every Sunday and set them 
down at the same place, where they know that everything 
they hear must be right. Their fathers have done the same 
thing before them; and the young ladies and gentlemen will 
come here too ; and all the new-fangled doctors and teachers 
may go roaring through the land, and still here we come regu- 
larly, not caring a whit for the vagaries of others, knowing that 
we ourselves are in the real old right original way." 
: I am sure this is what the fellow meant by his sneer at the 
Protestants, and their gadding from one doctrine to another ; 
but there was no call and no time to have a battle with him, 
as by this time we had entered a large lawn covered with hay- 
cocks, and prettily, as I think, ornamented with a border of 
blossoming potatoes, and drove up to the front door of the 
convent. It is a huge old square house, with many windows, 
having probably been some flaunting squire's residence ; but 
the nuns have taken off somewhat from its rakish look, by fling- 
ing out a couple of wings with chapels, or buildings like chapels, 
at either end. 

A large, lofty, clean, trim hall was open to a flight of steps, 
and we found a young lady in the hall, playing, instead of a 
pious sonata — which I vainly thought was the practice in such 
godly seminaries of learning — that abominable rattling piece of 
music called la Viohttc, which it has been my lot to hear exe- 
cuted by other young ladies ; and which (with its like) has al- 
ways appeared to me to be constructed upon this simple fashion 
-^to take a tune, and then, as it were, to fling it down and up 
stairs. As soon as the young lady playing '' the Violet " saw 
us, she quitted the hall and retired to an inner apartment, where 
she resumed that delectable piece at her leisure. Indeed there 
were pianos all over the educational part of the house. 

We were shown into a gay parlor (where hangs a pretty 
drawing representing the melancholy old convent which the 
Sisters previously inhabited in Cork), and presently Sister 
No. Two-Eight made her appearance — a pretty and graceful 
lady. 

*' 'Tis the prettiest nun of the whole house," whispered the 
lady who had been educated at the convent ; and I must own 
that slim, gentle, and pretty as this young lady was, and calcu 
lated with her kind smiling face and little figure to frighten no 
one in the world, a great six-foot Protestant could not help 
looking at her with a little tremble. I had never been in a 
nun's company before; I'm afraid of such — I don't care to 



344 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



own — in tlieir black mysterious robes and awful veils. As 
priests in gorgeous vestments, and little rosy incense-boys in 
red, bob their heads and knees up and down before altars, 
or clatter silver pots full of smoking odors, I feel I don't know 
what sort of thrill and secret creeping terror. Here I was, in a 
room with a real live nun, pretty and pale — T wonder has she 
any of her sisterhood immured in oubliettes down below ; is her 
poor little weak, delicate body scarred all over with scourgings, 
iron-collars, hair-shirts .'' What has she had for dinner to-day ? 
— as we passed the refectory there was a faint sort of vapid 
nun-like vegetable smell, speaking of fasts and wooden platters; 
and I could picture to myself silent sisters eating their meal — 
a grim old yellow one in the reading-desk, croaking out an ex- 
tract from a sermon for their edification. 

But is it policy, or hypocrisy, or reality ? These nuns affect 
extreme happiness and content with their condition : a smiling 
beatitude, which they insist belongs peculiarly to them, and 
about which the only doubtful point is the manner in whicli it is 
produced before strangers. Young ladies educated in convents 
have often mentioned this fact — how the nuns persist in declar- 
ing and proving to them their own extreme enjoyment of life. 

Were all the smiles of that kind-looking Sister Two-Eight 
perfectly sincere ? Whenever she spoke her face was lighted [ 
up with one. She seemed perfectly radiant with happiness, 
tripping lightly before us, and distributing kind compliments 
to each, which made me in a very few minutes forget the intro- 
ductory fright which her poor little presence had occasioned. 

She took us through the hall (where was the vegetable 
savor before mentioned), and showed us the contrivance by 
which the name of Two-Eight was ascertained. Each nun has 
a number, or a combination of numbers, prefixed to her name ; 
and a bell is pulled a corresponding number of times, by which 
each sister knows when she is wanted. Poor souls ! are Ihey 
always on the look-out for that bell, that the ringing of it should 
be supposed infallibly to awaken their attention ? 

From the hall the sister conducted us through ranges of apart- 
ments, and I had almost said avenues of pianofortes, whence 
here and there a startled pensioner would rise, hijintcko simiUs^ 
at our approach, seeking 2, pavidam matrem in the person of a 
demure old stout mother hard by. We were taken through a 
hall decorated with a series of pictures of Pope Pius VI.,-— 
wonderful adventures, truly, in the life of the gentle old man. 
In one you see him gracefully receiving a Prince and Princess 
of Russia (tremendous incident !). The Prince has a pigtail 



THB: IRISH Sk'ETCH BOOK. 



345 



the Princess powder and a train, the Pope a — but never mind, 
we shall never get through the house at this rate. 

Passing through Pope Pius's gallery, we came into a long, 
clean, lofty passage, with many little doors on each side ; and 
here I confess my heart began to thump again. These were 
the doors of the cells of the Sisters. Bon Dieu ! and is it pos- 
sible that I shall see a nun's cell.? Do I not recollect the nun's 
cell in "The Monk," or in " The Romance of the Forest?" 
or, if not there, at any rate, in a thousand noble romances, 
read in early days of half-holiday perhaps — romances at two- 
pence a volume. 

Come in, in the name of the saints ! Here is the cell, I 
took off my hat and examined the little room with much curious 
wonder and reverence. There was an iron bed, with comfort- 
able curtains of green serge. There was a little clothes-chest 
of yellow wood, neatly cleaned, and a wooden chair beside it, 
and a desk on the chest, and about six pictures on the wall — • 
little religious pictures : a saint with gilt paper round him ; the 
Virgin showing on her breast a bleeding heart, with a sword 
run through it ; and other sad little subjects, calculated to make 
the inmate of the cell think of the sufferings of the saints and 
martyrs of the Church. Then there was a little crucifix, and a 
wax-candle on the ledge ; and here was the place where the 
poor black-veiled things were to pass their lives forever ! 

After having seen a couple of these little cells, we left the 
corridors in which they were, and were conducted, with a sort 
of pride on the nun's part, I thought, into the grand room of 
the convent — a parlor with pictures of saints, and a gay paper, 
and a series of small fineries, such only as women very idle 
know how to make. There were some portraits in the room, 
one an atrocious daub of an ugly old woman, surrounded by 
children still more hideous. Somebody had told the poor nun 
that this was a fine thing, and she believed it — heaven bless 
her ! — quite implicitly : nor is the picture of the ugly old Cana- 
dian woman the first reputation that has been made this way. 

Then from the fine parlor we went to the museum. I don't 
know how we should be curious of such trifles ; but the chron- 
icling of small-beer is the main .business of life — people only 
differing, as Tom Moore wisely says in one of his best poems, 
about their own peculiar tap. The poor nun's little collection 
of gimcracks was displayed in great state : there were spars 
in one drawer ; and, I think, a Chinese shoe and some Indian 
wares in another ; and some medals of the Popes, and a couple 
of score of coins ; and a clean glass case, full of antique works 



346 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 



of French theology of the distant period of Louis XV., to judge 
by the bindings — and this formed the main part of the museum. 
" The chief objects were gathered together by a single nun," 
said the sister with a look of wonder, as she went prattling on, 
and leading us hither and thither, like a child showing her 
toys. 

What strange mixture of pity and pleasure is it which comes 
over you sometimes when a child takes you by the hand, and 
leads you up solemnly to some little treasure of its own — a 
feather or a string of glass beads ? 1 declare I have often 
looked at such with more delight than at diamonds ; and felt 
the same sort of soft wonder examining the nun's little treasure- 
chamber. There was something touching in the very poverty 
of it : — had it been finer, it would not have been half so good. 

And now we had seen all the wonders of the house but the 
chapel, and thither we were conducted ; all the ladies of our party 
kneeling down as they entered the building, and saying a short 
prayer. 

This, as I am on sentimental confessions, I must own 
affected me too. It was a very pretty and tender sight. I 
should have liked to kneel down too, but was ashamed ; our 
northern usages not encouraging — ^among men at least — that 
sort of abandonment of dignity. Do any of us dare to sing 
psalms at church ? and don't we look with rather a sneer at a 
man who does ? 

The chapel had nothing remarkable in it except a very good 
organ, as I was told ; for we were allowed only to see the 
exterior of that instrument, our pious guide with much pleasure 
removing an oilcloth which covered the mahogany. At one 
side of the altar is a long high grille^ through which you see a 
hall, where the nuns have their stalls, and sit in chapel time ; 
and beyond this hall is another small chapel, with a couple of 
altars, and one beautiful print in one of them — a German Holy 
Family — a prim, mystical, tender piece, just befitting the place. 

in the grille is a little wicket and a ledge before it. It is to 
tl]is wicket that women are brought to kneel ; and a bishop is 
i'.'i llie chapel on the other side, and takes their hands in his, 
and receives their vows. I had never seen the like before, and 
own that I felt a sort of shudder at looking at the place. There 
rest the girl's knees as she offers herself up, and forswears the 
sacred affections which God gave her ; there she kneels and 
denies forever the beautiful duties of her being : — no tender 
maternal yearnings, no gentle attachments are to be had for 
her or from her, — there she kneels and commits suicide upon 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK'. 



347 



her heart. O honest Martin Luther ! thank God, you came to 
pull that infernal, wicked, unnatural altar down — that cursed 
Paganism ! Let people, solitary, worn-out by sorrow or oppressed 
with extreme remorse, retire to such places ; fly and beat your 
breasts in caverns and wildernesses, O A'omen, i£ you will, but 
be Magdalens first. It is shameful that any young girl, with 
any vocation however seemingly strong, should be allowed to 
bury herself in this small tomb of a few acres. Look at yonder 
nun, — pretty, smiling, graceful, and young, — what has God's 
world done to her, that she should run from it, or she done to 
the world, that she should avoid it ? What call has she to give 
up all her duties and affections ? and would she not be best 
serving God with a husband at her side, and a child on her 
knee ? 

The sights in the house having been seen, the nun led us 
through the grounds and gardens. There was the hay in front, 
a fine yellow corn-field at the back of the house, and a large 
melancholy-looking kitchen-garden ; in all of which places the 
nuns, for certain hours in the day, are allowed to take recrea- 
tion. " The nuns here are allowed to amuse themselves more 
than ours at New Hall," said a little girl who is educated at 
that English convent : " do you know that here the r: nr, may 
make hay?" What a privilege is this ! We saw none of the 
black Sisterhood availing themselves of it, however : the hay 
was neatly piled into cocks and ready for housing ; so the poor 
souls must wait until next year before they can enjoy this 
blessed sport once more. 

Turning into a narrow gate with the nun at our head, we 
found ourselves in a little green, quiet inclosure — it was the 
burial-ground of the convent. The poor things know the places 
where they are to lie : she who was with us talked smilingly of 
being stretched there one day, and pointed out the resting-place 
of a favorite old sister who had died three months back, and 
been buried in the very midst of the little ground. And here 
they come to live and die. The gates are open, but they never 
go out. All their world lies in a dozen acres of ground ; and 
thev sacrifice their lives in early youth, many of them passing 
from the grave up stairs in the hou^e to the one scarcely nar- 
rower in the churchyaid here ; and are seemingly not unhappy. 

I came out of the place quite sick ; and looking before me, 
— there, thank God ! was the blue spire of Monkstown church 
soaring up into the free sky- — a river in front rolling away to 
the sea — liberty, sunshine, all sorts of glad life and motion 
round about : and I couldn't but thank heaven for it, and the 



348 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOKr 



Being whose service is freedom, and who has given us affec- 
tions that we may use them — not smother and kill them ; and 
a noble world to live in, that we may admire it and Him who 
made it- — not shrink from it, as though we dared not live there, 
but must turn our backs upon it and its bountiful Provider. 

And in conclusion, if that most cold-blooded and precise of 
all personages, the respectable and respected English reader, 
may feel disposed to sneer at the above sei ti nental homily, or 
to fancy that it has been written for effect — let him go and see 
a convent for himself. I declare I think for my part that we 
have as much right to permit Sutteeism in India as to allow 
women in the United Kingdom to take these wicked vows, or 
Catholic bishops to receive them ; and that Government has 
as good a right to interpose in such cases, as the police have 
to prevent a man from hanging himself, or the doctor to refuse 
a glass of prussic-acid to any one who may have a wish to go 
out of the world. 



CHAPTER VH. 

CORK. 

Amidst the bustle and gayeties of the Agricultural meeting, 
the working-day aspect of the city was not to be judged of : 
but I passed a fortnight in the place afterwards, during which 
time it settled down to its calm and usual condition. The 
flashy French and plated goods' shops, which made a show for 
the occasion of the meeting, disappeared ; you were no longer 
crowded and jostled by smart male and female dandies in walk- 
ing down Patrick Street or the Mall ; the poor little theatre had 
scarcely a soul on its bare benches : I went once, but the 
dreadful brass band of a dragoon regiment blew me out of doors. 
This music could be heard much more pleasantly at some dis- 
tance off in the street. 

One sees in this country many a grand and tall iron gate 
leading into a very shabby field covered with thistles : and the 
simile to the gate will in some degree apply to this famous city 
of Cork, — which is certainly not a city of palaces, but of which 
the outlets are magnificent. That towards Killarney leads by 
the Lee, the old Avenue of Mardyke, and the rich green pas- 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 34^ 

tures stretching down to the river ; and as you pass by the 
portico of the county jail, as fine and as glancing as a palace, 
you see the wooded heights on the other side of the fair stream, 
crowded with a thousand pretty villas and terraces, presenting 
every image of comfort and prosperity. The entrance from 
Cove has been mentioned before ; nor is it easy to find any- 
where a nobler, grander, and more cheerful scene. 

Along the quays up to Saint Patrick's Bridge there is a 
certain bustle. Some forty ships may be lying at anchor along 
the walls of the quay, and its pavements are covered with goods 
of various merchandise : here a cargo of hides ; yonder a com- 
pany of soldiers, their kits, and their Dollies, who are taking 
leave of the redcoats at the steamer's side. Then you shall 
see a fine, squeaking, shrieking drove of pigs embarking by the 
same conveyance, and insinuated into the steamer by all sorts 
of coaxing, threatening, and wheedling. Seamen are singing 
and yeehoing on board ; grimy colliers smoking at the liquor- 
shops along the quay ; and as for the bridge — there is a crowd 
of idlers on that, you may be sure, sprawling over the balus- 
trade for ever and ever, with long ragged coats, steeple-hats, 
and stumpy doodeens. 

Then along the Coal Quay you may see a clump of jingle- 
drivers, who have all a word for your honor; and in Patrick 
Street, at three o'clock, when " The Rakes of Mallow " gets 
under weigh (a cracked old coach with the paint rubbed off, 
some smart horses, and an exceedingly dingy harness) — at 
three o'clock, you will be sure to see at least forty persons 
waiting to witness the departure of the said coach : so that the 
neighborhood of the inn has an air of some bustle. 

At the other extremity of the town, if it be assize time, you 
will see some five hundred persons squatting by the court- 
house, or buzzing and talking within. The rest of the respect- 
able quarter of the city is pretty free from an^^thing like bustle : 
.there is no more life in Patrick Street than in Russell Square 
of a sunshiny day ; and as for the Mall, it is as lonely as the 
chief street of a German Residenz 

I have mentioned the respectable quarter of the city — for 
there are quarters in it swarming with life, but of such a fright- 
ful kind as no pen need care to describe : alleys where the 
odors and rags and darkness are so hideous, that one runs 
frightened away from them. In some of them, they say, not 
the policeman, only the priest, can penetrate. I asked a 
!Roman Catholic clergyman of the city to take me into some 
of these haunts, but he refused very justly ; and indeed a man 



3 5 o THE IRISH SKE TCH B O OK. 

may be quite satisfied with what he can see in the mere out 
skirts of the districts, without caring to penetrate further. 
Not far from tlie quays is an open space where the poor hold 
a market or bazaar. Here is liveliness and business enough : 
ragged women chattering and crying their beggarly wares \ 
ragged boys gloating over dirty apple and pie-stalls ; fish fry- 
ing, and raw and stinking ; clothes-booths, where you might 
buy a wardrobe for scarecrows ; old nails, hoops, bottles, and 
marine wares ; old battered furniture, that has been sold against 
starvation. In the streets round about this place, on a sun- 
shiny day, all the black gaping windows and mouldy steps are 
covered with squatting lazy figures — women, with bare breasts, 
nursing babies, and leering a joke as you pass by — ragged 
children paddling everywhere. It is but two minutes' walk 
out of Patrick Street, where you come upon a hne flashy shop 
of plated-goods, or a grand French emporium of dolls, walking- 
sticks, carpet-bags, and perfumery. The markets hard by have 
a rough, old-fashioned, cheerful look ; it's a comfort after the 
misery to hear a red butcher's wife crying after you to buy an 
honest piece of meat. 

The poor-house, newly established, cannot hold a fifth part 
of the poverty of this great town : the richer inhabitants are 
untiring in their charities, and the C>_;;holic clergyman before 
mentioned took me to see a delivery of ri^e, at which he pre- 
sides every day until the potatoes shall come in. This market, 
over which he presides so kindly is held in an old bankrupt 
warehouse, and the rice is sold considerably under the prime 
cost to hundreds of struggling applicants who come when lucky 
enough to have wherewithal to pay. 

That the city contains much wealth is evidenced by the 
number of handsome villas round about it, where the rich 
merchants dwell ; but the warehouses of the wealthy provision- 
merchants make no show to the stranger walking the streets; 
and of *he retail-shops, if some are spacious and handsome, 
most look as if too big for the business carried on within. 
The want of ready-money was quite curious. In three of the 
principal shops I purchased articles, and tendered a pound in 
exchange — not one of them had silver enough ; and as for a 
five-pound note, which I presented at one of the topping book- 
seller's, his boy went round to various places in vain, and 
finally set forth to the Bank, where change was got. In an- 
other small shop I offered half a crown to pay for a sixpenny, 
article — it was all the same. "Tim," says the good woman, 
"run out in a hurry and fetch the gentleman change." Two 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 35 1 

of the shopmen, seeing an Englishman, were very particular to 
tell me in what 3^ears they themselves had been in London. It 
seemed a merit in these gentlemen's eyes to have once dwelt 
in that city ; and I see in the papers continually ladies adver- 
tising as governesses, and specifying particularly that they are 
" English ladies." 

Ireceived six 5/. post-office orders \ I called four times on 
as many different days at the Post Office before the capital 
could be forthcoming, getting on the third application 20/. 
(after making a great clamor, and vowing that such things 
were unheard-of in England), and on the fourth call the re- 
maining 10/. I saw poor people, who may have come from the 
country with their orders, refused payment of an order of some 
40.5-. ,- and a gentleman who tendered a pound-note in payment 
of a foreign letter, was told to " leave his letter and pay some 
other time." Such things could not take place in the hundred- 
andsecond city in England ; and as I do not pretend to doc- 
trinize at all, I leave the reader to draw his own deductions 
with regard to the commercial condition and prosperity of the 
second city in Ireland. 

Half a dozen of the public buildings I saw were spacious 
and shabby beyond all cockney belief. Adjoining the '• Impe- 
rial Hotel " is a great, large, handsome, desolate reading-room, 
which was founded by a body of Cork merchants and trades- 
men, and is the very picture of decay. Not Palmyra — not the 
Russell Institution in Great Coram Street — presents a more 
melancholy appearance of faded greatness. Opposite this is 
another institution, called the Cork Library, where there are 
plenty of books and plenty of kindness to the stranger ; but 
the shabbiness and faded splendor of the place are quite pain- 
ful. There are three handsome Catholic churches commenced 
of late years ; not one of them is complete : two want their 
porticoes ; the other is not more than thirty feet from the 
ground, and according to the architectural plan was to rise as 
high as a cathedral. There is an Institution, with a fair library 
of scientific works, a museum, and a drawing-school with a sup- 
ply of casts. The place is in yet more dismal condition than 
the Library : the plasters are spoiled incurably for want of a 
sixpenny feather-brush ; the dust lies on the walls, and nobody 
seems to heed it. Two shillings a year would have repaired 
much of the evil which has happened to this institution ; and 
it is folly to talk of inward dissensions and political differences 
as causing the ruin of such institutions : kings or law don'r 
cause or cure dust and cobwebs, but indolence leaves them to 



352: THE IRIS// SA'£ TCH B OOJC. 

accumulate^ and imprudence will not calculate its income, and 
vanity exaggerates its own powers, and the fault is laid upon 
that tyrant of a sister kingdom. The whole country is filled 
with sucli failures ; swaggering beginnings that could not be 
carried through ; grand enterprises begun dashingly, and end- 
ing in shabby compromises or downright ruin. 

I have said something in praise of the manners of the Cork 
ladies : in regard of the gentlemen, a stranger too must remark 
the extraordinary degree of literary taste and talent amongst 
them, and the wit and vivacity of their conversation. The love 
for literature seems to an Englishman doubly curious. What, 
generally speaking, do a company of grave gentlemen and 
ladies in Baker Street know about it ? Who ever reads books 
in the City, or, how often does one hear them talked about 
at a Club.-* The Cork citizens are the most book-loving men 
I ever met. The town has sent to England a number of literary 
men, of reputation too, and is not a little proud of their fame. 
Everybody seemed to know what Maginn was doing, and that 
Father Prout had a third volume ready, and what was Mr. 
Croker's last article in the Quarterly. The young clerks and 
shopmen seemed as much au fait as their employers, and many 
is the conversation I heard about the merits of this writer or 
that — Dickens, Ainsworth, Lover, Lever. 

I think, in walking the streets, and looking at the ragged 
urchins crowding there, every Englishman must remark that 
the superiority of intelligence is here, and not with us. I 
never saw such a collection of bright-eyed, wild, clever, eager 
faces. Mr. Maclise has carried away a number of them in his 
memory ; and the lovers of his admirable pictures will find 
more than one Munster countenance under a helmet in com- 
pany of Macbeth, or in a slashed doublet alongside of Prince 
Hamlet, or in the very midst of Spain in company with Senor 
Gil Bias. Gil Bias himself came from Cork, and not from 
Oviedo. 

I listened to two boys almost in rags : they were lolling 
over the quay balustrade, and talking about o?i.e of the Ftolemys ! 
and talking very well too. One of them had been reading in 
" Rollin," and was detailing his information with a great deal 
of eloquence and fire. Another day, walking in the Mardyke, 
I followed three boys, not half so well dressed as London er- 
rand-boys ; one was telling the other about Captain Ross's 
voyages, and spoke with as much brightness and intelligence 
:ls llie best-read gentleman's son in England could do. He 
ei as-, as much of a gentleman too, the ragged youn§ student; 



THE IKISH SKETCH BOOK. 



353 



his manner as good, though perhaps more eager and emphatic ; 
his language was extremely rich, too, and eloquent. Does the 
reader remember his school-days, when half a dozen lads in the 
bedroom took it by turns to tell stories ? how poor the language 
generally was, and how exceedingly poor the imagination ! Both 
of those ragged Irish lads had the making of gentlemen, scholars, 
orators, in them. Apropos of love of reading, let me mention 
here a Dublin story. Dr. Lever, the celebrated author of 
" Harry Lorrequer," went into Dycer's stables to buy a horse. 
The groom who brought the animal out, directly he heard who 
the gentleman was, came out and touched his cap, and pointed 
to a little book in his pocket in a pink cover. ''^ I caii't do 
7vithoiit it, sir,'' says the man. It was " Harry Lorrequer." I 
wonder does any one of Mr. Rymell's grooms take in '' Pick- 
wick," or would they have any curiosity to see Mr. Dickens, 
should he pass that way ? 

The Corkagians are eager for a Munster University ; asking 
for, and having a very good right to, the same privilege which 
has been granted to the chief city of the North of Ireland. It 
would not fail of being a great benefit to the city and to the 
country too, which would have no need to go so far as Dublin 
for a school of letters and medicine ; nor, Whig and Catholic 
for the most part, to attend a Tory and Protestant University. 
The establishing of an open college in Munster would bring 
much popularity to any Ministry that should accord such a 
boon. People would cry out, " Popery and Infidelity," doubt- 
less, as they did when the London University was established \ 
as the same party in Spain would cry out, "Atheism and 
Heresy." But the time, thank God ! is gone by in England 
when it was necessary to legislate for thevi ; and Sir Robert 
Peel, in giving bis adherence to the National Education scheme, 
has sanctioned the principle of which this so much longed-for 
college would only be a consequence. 

The medical charities and hospitals are said to be very well 
arranged, and the medical men of far more than ordinary skill. 
Other public institutions are no less excellent. I was taken 
over the Lunatic Asylum, where everything was conducted with 
admirable comfort, cleanliness, and kindness ; and as for the 
county jail, it is so neat, spacious, and comfortable, that we 
can only pray to see every cottager in the country as cleanly, 
well lodged, and well fed as the convicts are. They get 
a pound of bread and a pint of milk twice a day: there 
must be millions of people in this vvr^tchfed country, to 
whom such iood would be a luxury that their utmost labors can 

2% 



2^4 ^^^ IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

never by possibility procure for them ; and in going ovei this 
admirable institution, where everybody is cleanly, healthy, and 
well-clad, I could not but think of the rags and filth of the 
horrid starvation market before mentioned \ so that the prison 
seemed almost a sort of premium for vice. But the people like 
their freedom, such as it is, and prefer to starve and be ragged 
as they list. They will not go to the poor-houses, except at 
the greatest extremity, and leave them on the slightest chance 
of existence elsewhere. 

Walking away from this palace of a prison, you pass amidst 
all sorts of delightful verdure, cheerful gardens, and broad 
green luscious pastures, down to the beautiful River Lee. On 
one side, the river shines away towards the city with its towers 
and purple steeples ; on the other it is broken by little water^ 
falls and bound in by blue hills, an old castle towering in the 
distance, and innumerable parks and villas lying along the 
pleasant wooded banks. How beautiful the scene is, how rich 
and how happy ! Yonder, in the old Mardyke Avenue, you 
hear the voices of a score of children, and along the bright 
green meadows, where the cows are feeding, the gentle shadows 
of the clouds go playing over the grass. Who can look at 
such a charming scene but with a thankful swelling heart ? 

In the midst of your pleasure, three beggars have hobbled 
up, and are howling supplications to the Lord. One is old and 
blind, and so diseased and hideous, that straightway all the 
pleasure of. the sight round about vanishes from you — that 
livid ghastly face interposing between you and it. And so it 
is throughout the south and west of Ireland, the traveller is 
haunted by the face of the popular starvation. It is not the 
exception, it is the condition of the people. In this fairest 
and richest of countries, men are suffering and starving by 
millions. There are thousands of theni at this minute 
stretched in the sunshine at their cabin doors with no work, 
scarcely any food, no hope seemingly. Strong countrymen 
are lying in bed ^^ for the hunger " — because a man lying on 
his back does not need so much food as a person a-foot. 
Many of them have torn up the unripe potatoes from their little 
gardens, to exist now, and must look to winter, when they shall 
have to suffer starvation and cold too. The epicurean, and 
traveller for pleasure, had better travel anyvv^here than here : 
where there are miseries that one does not dare to think of j 
where one is always feeling how helpless pity is, and how hope- 
less relief, and is perpetually made ashamed of being happy. 



THE IRISH SKE TCII BOOK. 3 ^ ^ 

I have just been strolling up a pretty little height called 
Grattan's Hill, that overlooks the town and the river, and 
where the artis.t that conies Corkwards may find many subjects 
for the pencil. There is a kind of pleasure-ground at the tcp 
of this eminence — a broad walk that draggles up to a ruined 
wall, with a ruined niche in it, and a battered stone bench. 
On the side that shelves down to the water are some beeches, 
and opposite them a row of houses from which you see one of 
the prettiest prospects possible — the shining river with the craft 
along the quays, and the busy city in the distance, the active 
little steamers puffing away towards Cove, the farther bank 
crowned with rich woods, and pleasant-looking country-houses ; 
perhaps they are tumbling, rickety and ruinous, as those houses 
close by us, but you can't see the ruin from here. 

What a strange air of forlorn gayety there is about the place ! 
^7-the sky itself seems as if it did not know whether to laugh or 
cry, so full is it of clouds and sunshine. Little fat, ragged, 
smiling children are clambering about the rocks, and sitting on 
mossy door-steps, tending other children yet smaller, fatter, and 
more dirty. " Stop till I get you a posy " (pronounced /(^z£/^?- 
wawsei)^ cries one urchin to another. " Tell me who is it ye love, 
Jooly ? " exclaims another, cuddling a red-faced infant with a 
very dirty nose. More of fhe same race are perched about the 
summer-house, and two wenches with large purple feet are flap- 
ping some carpets in the air. It is a wonder the carpets will 
bear this kind of treatment at all, and do not be off at once to 
mingle with the elements : I never saw things that hung to life 
by such a frail thread. 

This dismal pleasant place is a suburb of the second city in 
Ireland, and one of the most beautiful spots about the town. 
What a prim, bustling, active, green-railinged, tea-gardened, 
gravel-walked place would it have been in the five-hundredth 
town in England ! — but you see the people can be quite as 
happy in the rags and without the paint, and I hear a great 
deal more heartiness and affection from these children than from 
their fat little brethren across the Channel. 

If a man wanted to study ruins, here is a house close at 
hand, not forty years old no. doubt, but yet as comjDletely gone 
to wreck as Netley Abbey. It is quite curious to study that 
house; and a pretty ruinous fabric of improvidence, extrava- 
gance, happiness, and disaster may the imagination build out 
of it ! In the first place, the owners did not wait to finish it 
before they went to inhabit it I This is written in just such an- 
other place ;— a handsome drawing-room with a good carpet, a 



356 T^^E IRISH SKK TCH BOOK. 

lofty marble inantel-piece, and no paper to the walls. The door 
is prettily painted white and blue, and though not six weeks old 
a great piece of the wood-work is off already (Peggy uses it to 
prevent the door from banging to) ; and there are some fine 
chinks in every one of the panels, by which my neighbor may 
!see all my domgs. 

_ A couple of score of years, and this house will be just like 
yonder place on Grattan's Hill. 

Like a young prodigal, the house begins to use its constitu- 
tion too early ; and when it should yet (in the shape of carpen- 
ters and painters) have all its masters and guardians to watch 
and educate it, my house on Grattan's Hill must be a man at 
once, and enjoy all the privileges of strong health ! I would 
lay a guinea they were making punch in that house before they 
could keep the rain out of it ! that they had a dinner-party and 
ball before the floors were firm or the wainscots painted, and a 
fine tester-bed in the best room, where my lady might catch 
cold in state, in the midst of yawning chimneys, creaking win- 
dow-sashes, and smoking plaster. 

Now look at the door of the coach-house, with its first coat 
of paint seen yet, and a variety of patches to keep the feeble 
barrier together. The loft was arched once, but a great corner 
has tumbled at one end, leaving a gash that unites the windows 
with the coach-house door. Several of the arch-stones are re- 
moved, and the whole edifice is about as rambling and disor- 
derly as — as the arrangement of this book, say. Very tall tufts 
of mouldy moss are on the drawing-room windows, with long 
white heads of grass. As I am sketching this — honk / — a great 
lean sow comes trampling through the slush within the court- 
yard, breaks down the flimsy apparatus of rattling boards and 
stones which had passed for the gate, and walks with her- seven 
squeaking little ones to disport on the grass on the hill. 

The drawing-room of the tenement mentioned just now, 
with its pictures, and pulleyless windows and lockless doo-r^, 
was tenanted by a friend who lodged there with a sick' wife and 
a couple of little children ; one of whom was an infant in arms. 
It is not, however, the lodger — who is an Englishman — but the 
kind landlady and her family who may well be described here 
— for their like are hardly to be found on the other side of the 
Channel. Mrs. Fagan is a young widow who has seen better 
days, and that portrait over the grand mantel-piece is the pic- 
ture of her husband that is gone, a handsome young man, and 
well to do at one time as a merchant. But the widow. (she is 
as pretty, as lady-like, as kind, andas neatas ever widow could 



TIU: IRISJI SKETCH BOOK. 3^7 

be) has lillle left to live upon but the rent of her lodgings and 
her furniture ; of which we have seen tlie best in the drawing- 
room. 

Siie has three tine children of her own : there is Minny, and 
Katey, and Patsey, and they occupy indifferently the duiing- 
room on the ground floor or the kitchen opposite; where in the 
midst of a great smoke sits an old nurse, by a copper of pota- 
toes which is always bubbling and full. Patsey swallows quan- 
tities of them, that'sclear : his cheeks are as red and shining 
as apples, and when he roars, you are sure that his lungs are 
in the finest condition. Next door to the kitchen is the pantry, 
and there is a bucketful of the before-mentioned fruit, and a 
grand service of china for dinner and dessert. The kind 
young widow shows them with no little pride, and .says with 
reason that there are few lodging-houses in Cork that can 
match such china as that. They are relics of the happy old 
tiiTies when Fagan kept his gig and horse, doubtless, and had 
his friends to dine — the happy prosperous days which she has 
exchanged for poverty and the sad black gown. 

Patsey, Minny, and Katey have made friends with the little 
English people up stairs ; the elder of whom, in the course of 
a month, has as fine a Munster brogue as ever trolled over the 
lips of any born Corkagian. The old nurse carries out the 
whole united party to walk, with the exception of the English 
baby, that jumps about in the arms of a countrywoman of her 
own. That is, unless one of the four Miss Pagans takes her; 
for four of them there are, four othc}' Miss Pagans, from eight- 
een downwards to fourteen : — handsome, fresh, lively, dancing, 
bouncing girls. You may always see two or three of them 
smiling at the parlor-window, and they laugh and turn away 
their heads when any young fellow looks and admires them. 

Now, it stands to reason that a young widow of five-and- 
twenty can't be the mother of four young ladies of eighteen 
downwards ; and, if anybody wants to know how they come to 
be living with the poor widow their cousin, the answer is, tney 
are on a visit. Peggy the maid says their papa is a gentleman 
of property, and can " spend his eight hundred a year." 

Why don't they remain with the old gentleman then, instead 
of quartering ox\ the poor young widow, who has her own little 
mouths to feed .?. The reason is, the o-ld gentleman has gone 
^cW^i-married his coak ; mid the daughters have quitted him in a 
body, refusing to sit-down to dinner with -a person who ought 
by rights to be in the kitchen. The whole family (the- Pagans 
are.. of good £am-iiy) take the quarrel up. and h-ere are -the 
VQun^ people under shelter of the widow. 



358 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

Four merrier tender-hearted girls are not to be found in all 
Ireland ; and the only subject of contention amongst them is, 
which shall have the English baby : they are nursing it, and 
singing to it, and dandling it by turns all day long. When 
they are not singing to the baby, they are singing to an old 
piano : such an old wiry, jingling, wheezy piano ! It has plenty 
of work, playing jigs and song accompaniments between meals 
and acting as a sideboard at dinner. I am not sure that it is 
a' rest at night either; but have a shrewd suspicion that it is 
turned into a four-post bed. And for the following reason : — 

Every afternoon at four o'clock, you see a tall old gentle- 
man walking leisurely to the house. He is dressed in a long 
great-coat with huge pockets, and in the huge pockets are sure 
to be some big apples for all the children — the English child 
amongst the rest, and she generally has the biggest one. At 
seven o'clock, you are sure to hear a deep vci:e shouting 
" Peggy ! " in an awful tone — it is the old gentleman calling 
for his " materials ;" which Peggy brings without any farther 
ado ; and a glass of punch is made, no doubt, for everybody. 
Then the party separates : the children and the old nurse have 
long since trampled up stairs \ Peggy has the kitchen for her 
sleeping apartment, and the four young ladies make it out some- 
how in the back drawing-room. As for the old gentleman, he 
reposes in the parlor ; and it must be somewhere about the 
piano, for there is no furniture in the room except that, a table, 
a few old chairs, a work-box, and a couple of albums. 

The English girl's father met her in the street one day, 
talking' confidentially with a tall old gentleman in a great-coat. 
" Who's your friend ? " says the Englishman afterwards to the 
little girl. " Don't you know him, papa ? " said the child in the 
purest brogue. " Don't you know him ? — That's Uncle 
James ! '"' And so it was : in this kind, poo", generous, bare- 
backed house, the English child found a set of new relations ; 
little rosy brothers and sisters to play with, kind women to take 
the place of the almost dying mother, a good old Uncle James 
to bring her home apples and care for her — one and all ready 
to share their little pittance with her, and to give her a place 
i.i their simple friendly hearts. God Almighty bless the widow 
and her mite, and all the kind souls under her roof ! 

How much goodness and generosity — how much purity, 
fine feeling — nay, happiness — may dwell amongst the poor whom 
we have been just looking at! Here, thank God, is an instance 
of this happy and cheerful poverty : and it is good to look, 
when one can, at the heart that beats under the threadbare 



THK IR/SJI SKETCH BOOK. 



359 



:oat, as well as the tattered old garment itself. Well, please 
[leaven, some of those people whom we have been looking at, 
ire as good, and not much less happy : but though they are 
iccustomed to their want, the stranger does not reconcile him- 
self to it quickly ; and I hope no Irish reader will be offended 
It my speaking of this poverty, not with scorn or ill-feeling, 
3ut with hearty sympathy and good-will. 



One word more regarding the Widow Fagan's house. When 
Peggy brought in coals for the drawing-room fire, she carried 
them — in what do you think ? " In a coal-scuttle, to be sure," 
5ays the English reader, down on you as sharp as a needle. 

No, you clever Englishman, it wasn't a coal-scuttle. 

" Well, then, it was in a fire-shovel," says that brightest of 
wits, guessing again. 

No, it ivasjCt a fire-shovel, you heaven-born genius ; and 
you might guess from this until Mrs. Snooks called you up to 
::offee, and you would never find out. It was in something 
which I have already described in Mrs. Fagan's pantry. 

" Oh, I have you now, it was the bucket where the potatoes 
were; the thlatternly wetch ! " says Snooks. 

Wrong again ! Peggy brought up the coals — in a china 

PLATE 1 

Snooks turned quite white with surprise, and almost choked 
himself with his port. " Well," says he, " of all the wu7ti count- 
with that I ever wead of, hang nxe if Ireland ithn't the tvwnmetkt. 
Coalth in a plate ! Mawyann, do you hear that ? In Ireland 
they alwayth thend up their coalth in a plate ! " 



CHAPTER VIII. 

FROM CORK TO BANTRY ; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE CITY OF 
SKIBBEREEN. 

That light four-inside, four-horse coach, the " Skibbereen 
Perseverance," brought me iifty-two miles to-day, for the sum 
Df three-and-sixpence, through a country which is, as usual, 
somewhat difficult to describe. We issued out of Cork by the 
western road, in which, as the Guide-book says, there is some- 



360 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOIC 

thing very imposing. " The magnificence of the county court; 
house, the extent, soUdity, and characteristic sternness of the 
county jail," were visible to us for a few minutes; when turn 
ing away southward from the pleasant banks of the stream, the 
road took us towards Bandon, through a country that is bare 
and ragged-looking, but yet green and pretty \ and it alwayr 
seems to me, like the people, to look cheerful in spite of its 
wretchedness, or, more correctly, to look tearful and cheerfu. 
at the same time. 

The coach, like almost every other public vehicle I have 
seen in Ireland, was full to the brim and over it. What car 
send these restless people travelling and hurrying about fron 
place to place as they do } I have heard one or two gentlemer 
hint that they had " business " at this place or that ; and found 
afterwards that one was going a couple of score of miles to looM 
at a mare, another to examine a setter-dog, and so on. I did 
not make it my business to ask on what errand the gentlemei 
on the coach were bound ; though two of them, seeing ar 
Englishman, very good-naturedly began chalking out a routttj 
for him to take, and showing a sort of interest in his affairfl 
which is not with us generally exhibited. The coach, too 
seemed to have the elastic hospitality of some Irish houses ; ii 
accommodated an almost impossible number. For the greatet) 
part of the journey the little guard sat on the roof among thej 
carpet-bags, holding in one hand a huge tambour-frame, in the 
other a bandbox marked " Foggarty, Hatter." (What is therei 
more ridiculous in the name of Foggarty than in that of Smithjj 
and yet, had Smith been the name, I never should have laughec' 
at or remarked it.) Presently by his side clambered a green 
coated policeman with his carbine, and we had a talk about 
the vitriol-throwers at Cork, and the sentence just passed upon: 
them. The populace has decidedly taken part with the vitriol 
throwers : parties of dragoons were obliged to surround thet 
avenues of the court ; and the judge who sentenced them was 
abused as he entered his carriage, and called an old villain, 
and many other opprobrious names. 

This case the reader very likely remembers. A saw-mil!. 
was established at Cork, by which some four hundred sawyer* 
were thrown out of employ. \\\ order to deter the proprietors 
of- this and all other mills frojn using such instruments further, 
the sawyers determined to execute a terrible vengeance, an^ 
cast lots among themselves which of their bpdy should fling 
vitriol into the faces of the mill-owners.- The men who wer^'i 
chosen by the lot were to. execute this -horrible office pn_pain oi 



THE IK LSI f SKE I en BOOK. 361 

ath, and did so, — frightfully burning and blinding one of the 
ntlemen owning the mill. Great rewards -were offered for 
e apprehension of the criminals, and at last one of their own 
idy came forward as an approver, and the four principal 
tors in this dreadful outrage were sentenced to be transported 
r life. Crowds of the ragged admirers of these men were 
mding round " the magnihcent county court-house " as we 
,ssed the building. -Ours is a strange life indeed. What a 
torv of poverty and barbarity, and crime and even kindness, 
is that by which we passed before the magnificent county 
urt-house, at eight miles an hour ! What a chapter might a 
ilosopher write on them ! Look yond ~!r at those, two hun- 
ed ragged fellow-subjects of yours : they are kind, good, 
Dus, brutal, starving. If the priest tells them, there is scarce 
y penance they will not perform ; there is scarcely any pitch 
misery which they have not been known to endure, nor any 
gree of generosity of which they are not capable : but if a 
an comes among these people, and can afford to take land 
er their heads, or if he invents a machine which can work 
Dre economically than their labor, they will shoot the man 
twn without mercy, murder him, or put him to horrible tor- 
res, and glory almost in what they do. There stands the 

n ; they are only separated from us by a few paces ; they 
e as fond of their mother and children as we are ; their grat- 
de for small kindnesses shown to them is extraordinary ; they 
e Christians as we are ; but interfere with their interests, and 
ey wdll murder you without pity. 

It is not revenge so much which these poor fellows take, as a 
utal justice of their own. Now, will it seem a paradox to 
y, in regard to them and their murderous system, that the 
ly to put an end to the latter is to kill them no viore I Let 
g priest be able to go amongst them and say. The law holds 
man's life so sacred that it Mali on no account take it away. 
3 man, nor body of men, has a right to meddle with human 
e : not the Commons of England any more than the Com- 
)ps of Tipperary. This may cost two or three lives, probably, 
til such time as the system may come to be known and un- 
rstood ; but which will be the greatest economy of blood in 
I end .'' 

By this time the vitriol-men were long passed away, and we 

gan next to talk about the Cork and London steamboats ; 

jjiich are made to pay, on account of the number of paupers 

lom the boats bring over from London at the charge of that 

y. The passengers found here, as in everything else almost 



,62 7:JIE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

which I have seen as yet, another instance of the injury whic 
England inflicts on them. ''As long as these men are stron 
and can work," says one, *' you keep them ; when they are i 
bad health, you fling them upon us.'*' Nor could I convinei 
him that the agricultural gentlemen were perfectly free to stai 
at home if they liked : that we did for them what was done fo 
English paupers — sent them, namely, as far as possible on th 
way to their parishes ; nay, that some of frhem (as I have see 
with my own eyes) actually saved a bit of money during th 
harvest, and took this cheap way of conveying it and then 
selves to their homes again. But nothing would convince th 
gentleman, that there was not some wicked scheming on thl 
part of the English in the business ; and, indeed, I find upo: 
almost every other subject a peevish and puerile suspiciouii 
ness which is worthy of France itself. 

By this time we came to a pretty village called Innishannoi 
upon the noble banks of the Bandon river ; leading for thret 
miles by a great number of pleasant gentlemen's seats to Bar 
don town. A good number of large mills were on the banks c 
the stream ; and the chief part of them, as in Carlow, useles; 
One mill we saw was too small for the owner's great specuL 
lions ; and so he built another and larger one : the big mii 
cost him 10,000/., for which his brothers went security ; and,> 
•lawsuit being given against the mill-owner, the two mil3 
stopped, the two brothers went off, and yon fine old house, K 
the style of Anne, with terraces and tall chimneys — one of tkl 
oldest country-houses I have seen in Ireland — is now inhabited 
by the natural son of the mill-owner, who has more such \i 
teresting progeny. Then we came to a tall, comfortable hous« 
in a plantation ; opposite to which was a stone castle, in i-ii 
shrubberies on the other side of the road. The tall house 
the plantation shot the opposite side of the road in a duel, arSi 
nearly killed him ; on which the opposite side of the road bui 
this castle, in order to plague the tall house. They are go©: 
friends now \ but the opposite side of the road ruined himset 
in building his house. I asked, " Is the house finished ? 
" A good deal of it is^^^ was the answer. — And then we came:;^ 
a brewery, about which was a similar story of extravagance am 
ruin ; but, whether before or after entering Bandon, does m 
matter. 

We did not, it appears, pass through the best part of Baa 
don : I looked along one side of the houses in the long strec 
through which Ave went, to see if there was a window withoD 
a broken pane of glass, and can declare on my eonsciei^ 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOO A'. 363 

'' that every single window had three broken panes. There we 

'ichanged horses, in a market-place, surrounded, as usual, by 
beggars ; then we passed through a suburb still more wretched 

'|and ruinous than the first street, and which, in very large let- 

'!ters, is called doyle street : and the next stage was at a place 
called Dunmanway, 

Here it was market-day, too, and, as usual, no lack of at- 
tendants : swarms of peasants in their blue cloaks, squatting 

'fby their stalls here and there. There is a little miserable old 
market-house, where a few women were selling buttermilk ; an- 

ifother, bullocks' hearts, liver, and such like scraps of meat ; 
another had dried mackerel on a board ; and plenty of people 
huckstering of course. Round the coach came crowds of rag- 
gery, and blackguards fawning for money. I wonder who 
gives them any ! I have never seen any one give yet ; and 

Uvere they not even so numerous that it would be impossible 
to gratify them all, there is something in their cant and suppli- 
cations to the Lord so disgusting to me, that I could not give 
a halfpenny. 

In regard of pretty faces, male or female, this road is very 

liunfavorable. I have not seen one for fifty miles ; though, as it 
was market-day all along the road, we have had the opportunity 
to examine vast numbers of countenances. The women are, 
for the most part, stunted, short, with flat Tartar faces ; and 
the men no handsomer. Every woman has bare legs, of 
course ; and as the weather is fine, they are sitting outside their 
cabins, with the pig, and the geese, and the children sporting 

laround. 

Before many doors we saw a little flock of these useful 
animals, and the family pig almost everywhere : you might see 
him browsing and poking along the hedges, his fore and hind 
leg attached with a wisp of hay to check his propensity to 
roaming. Here and there were a small brood of turkeys ; 
now and then a couple of sheep or a single one grazing upon 
a scanty field, of which the chief crop seemed to be thistles 
and stone ; and, by the side of the cottage, the potato-field 
always. 

The character of the landscape for the most part is bare 
and sad ; except here and there in the neighborhood of the 
towns, where people have taken a fancy to plant, and where 
nature has helped them, as it almost always will in this country. 
If we saw a field with a. good hedge to it, we were sure to 
see a good crop inside. Many a field was there that had 
neither crop nor hedge. We passed by and over many streams. 



3^4 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



runninp' bright through brilliant emerald meadows 3 and I saw 
a thousand charming pictures, which want as yet an Irish 
Berghem, A bright road winding lip a hill; on it a country 
care, with its load, stretching a huge shadow ; the before-men- 
tioned emerald pastures and silver rivers in the foreground ;. 
a noble sweep of hills rising up from them, and contrasting 
their magnificent purple with the green ; in the extreme dis- 
tance the clear cold outline of some far-off mountains, and the 
white clouds tumbled about in the blue sky overhead. It has 
no doubt struck all persons who love to look at nature, how 
different the skies are in different countries. I fancy Irish or' 
French clouds are as characteristic as Irish or French land-: 
scapes. It would be well to have a daguerreotype and get a' 
series of each. Some way beyond Dunmanway the road takes' 
us through a noble savage country of rocks and heath. Nor 
must the painter forget long black tracts of bog here and- 
there, and the water glistening brightly at the places where' 
the turf has been cut away. Add to this, and chiefly by the 
banks of rivers, a ruined old castle or two-: some were built by' 
the Danes, it is said. The O'Connors, the O'Mahonys, the 
O'Driscolls were lords of many others, and their ruined towers^ 
may be seen here and along the sea. 

Near Dunmanway that great coach, "The Skibbereen In- 
dustry," dashed by us at seven miles an hour; a wondrous 
vehicle: there were gaps between every one of the panels; 
vou could see daylight through and through it. Like our 
machine, it was full, with three complementary sailors on the 
roof, as little harness as possible to the horses, and as long 
stages as horses can well endure : ours were each eighteen- 
mile stages. About eight miles from Skibbereen a one-horse 
car met us, and carried away an offshoot of passengers to 
Bantry. Five passengers and their luggage, and a very wild,^- 
steep road: all this had one poor little pony to overcome!- 
About the towns there were some show of gentlemen's cars, 
smart and well appointed, and on the road great numbers of 
country carts ; an army of them met us coming from Skib- 
bereen, and laden with gray sand for manure. 

Before you enter the city of Skibbereen, the tall new poor- 
house presents itself to the eye of the traveller ; of the com- 
mon model, being a bastard-Gothic edifice, with a profusion of 
cottage-ornee (is cottage masculine or feminine in French 1) 
— of cottage-ornee roofs, and pinnacles, and insolent-looking 
stacks of chimneys. It is built for 900 people, but as yet not 
more than 400 have been induced to live in it ; the beggars 



THK IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. ^5 ^ 

)referrin^ the freedom of their precarious trade to the dismal 
;ertainty within its walls. Next we come to the chapel, a very 
arge, respectable-looking building of dark-gray stone ; and 
)resently, behold, by the crowd of blackguards in waiting, 
The Skibbereen Perseverance" has found its goal, and you 
ire inducted to the "hotel " opposite. 

Some gentlemen were at the coach, besides those of lower 
legree. Here was a fat fellow with large whiskers, a geranium, 
nd a cigar; yonder a tall handsbme old -man that I would 
wear was a dragoon on half-pay. He had a little cap, a Tag- 
ioni coat, a pair of beautiful spaniels, and a pair of knee- 
)reeches which showed a ^ or)- handsome old leg ; and his 
>bject seemed to be to invite e\erybody to dinner as they got 
)ff the coach. No doubt he has seen the " Skibbereen Per- 
everance " come in ever since it was a "Perseverance." It 
s wonderful to think what will interest men in prisons or coun- 
ry towns ! 

There is a dirty coffee-room, with a strong smell of whiskey ; 
ndeed three young " materialists " are emplo3'ed at the moment : 
md I hereby beg to offer an apology to three other gentlemen 
—the captain, another, and the gentleman of the geranium, 
vho had caught hold of a sketching-stool which is my property, 
md were stretching it, and sitting upon it, and wondering, and 
alking of it, when the owner came in, and th.ey bounced off to 
heir seats like so many school-boys. Dirty as the place was, 
his w^as no reason w'hy it should not produce an exuberant 
linner of trout and Kerry mutton ; after which Dan the 
vaiter, holding up a dingy decanter, asks how much whiskey 
'd have. 

That calculation need not be made here ; and if a man 
leeps \yell, has he any need to quarrel with the appointments 
)f his bedroom, and spy out the deficiences of the land ? As 
t was Sunday, it was impossible for me to say what sort of 
;hops " the active and flourishing town " of Skibbereen con- 
ains. There were some of the architectural sort, viz. : with 
jilt letters and cracked mouldings, and others into which I 
bought I saw tli^cows walking; but it was only into their 
ittle cribs and paddocks at the back of the shops. There is 
I trim Wesleyan chapel, without any broken windows ; a neat 
:hurch standing modestly on one side. The Lower Street 
:rawls along the river to a considerable extent, having by- 
streets and boulevards of cabins here and there. 

The people came flocking into the place by hundreds, and 
i'ou saw their blue cloaks dotting the road and the bare open 



366 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

plains beyond. The men came with shoes and stockings to- 
day, the women all bare-legged, and many of them might be 
seen washing their feet in the stream before they went up toL, 
the chapel. The street seemed to be lined on either side with 
blue cloaks, squatting along the doorways as is their wont. 
Among these, numberless cows were walking to and fro, and]), 
pails of milk passing, and here and there a hound or two went 
stalking about. Dan the waiter says they are hunted by the. 
handsome old captain who was yesterday inviting everybody., 
to dinner. 

Anybody at eight o'clock of a Sunday morning in summei 
may behold the above scene from a bridge just outside thei 
town. He may add to it the river, with one or two barges lying: 
idle upon it ; a flag flying at what looks like a custom-house . 
bare country all around ; and the chapel before him, with a 
swarm of the dark figures round about it. 

I went into it, not without awe (for, as I confessed before, 
I always feel a sort of tremor on going into a Catholic place ol 
worship : the candles, and altars, and mysteries, the priest and 
his robes, and nasal chaunting, and wonderful genuflexions, 
will frighten me as long as. I live). The chapel-yard was filledl. 
with men and women ; a couple of sl)abby old beadles were ati,, 
the gate, with copper shovels to collect money, and inside the-^. 
chapel four or five hundred people were on their knees, and^,,, 
scores more of the blue-mantles came in, dropping their curtsies^.j 
as they entered, and then taking their places on the flags. .^ 

And now the pangs of hunger beginning to make themselvesij, 
felt, it became necessary for your humble servant (after making|^ 
several useless applications to a bell, which properly declined,^ 
to work on Sundays) to make a personal descent to the inn-ij 
kitchen, where was not a bad study for a painter. It was ajj 
huge room, v.ith a peat fire burning, and a staircase walking, ^ 
up one side of it, on which stair was a damsel in a partialjj 
though by no means picturesque dishabille. The cook had..^ 
just come in with a great frothing pail of milk, and sat with,j 
her arms folded ; the ostler's boy sat dangling his legs from the.j; 
table ; the ostler was dandling a noble little boy of a year old,;,] 
at whom Mrs. Cook likewise grinned delighted. Here, too, sat 
Mr. Dan the waiter; and no wonder the breakfast was delayed. [^^ 
for all three of these worthy domestics seemed delighted with.,] 
the infant. ' |., 

He was handed over to the gentleman's arms for the space] j 
of thirty seconds ; the gentleman being the father of a family, jj 
and of course an amateur. 



THE IRISH SKE TCII B O OK. 367 

" Say Dan for the gentleman," says the delighted cook. 

" Dada," says the baby ; at which the assembly grinned 
ith joy : and Dan promised I should have my breakfast " in 
hurry." 

But of all the wonderful things to be seen in Skibbereen, 
)an's pantry is the most wonderful : every article within is a 
lakeshift, and has been ingeniously perverted from its original 
estination. Here lie bread, blacking, fresh-butter, tallow- 
andles, dirty knives — all in the same cigar-box with snuff, 
lilk, cold bacon, brown sugar, broken teacups and bits of soap 
\o pen can describe that establishment, as no English imagin 
tion could have conceived it. But lo ! the sky has cleared 
fter a furious fall of rain — (in compliance with Dan's state- 
lent to that effect, " that the weather would be fine ") — and a 
ar is waiting to carry us to Loughine. 

Although the description of Loughine can make but a poor 
gure in a book, the ride thither is well worth the traveller's 
hort labor. You pass by one of the cabin-streets out of the 
Dwn into a country which for a mile is rich with grain, 
lough bare of trees ; then through a boggy bleak district, from 
^hich you enter into a sort of sea of rocks, with patches of 
erbage here and there. Before the traveller, almost all the 
ay, is a huge pile of purple mountain, on which, as one comes 
ear, one perceives numberless waves and breaks, as you see 
mall waves on a billow in the sea ; then clambering up a liill, 
^e look down upon a bright green flat of land, with the lake 
eyond it, girt round by gray melancholy hills. The water may 
e a mile in extent ; a cabin tops the mountain here and there ; 
entlemen have erected one or two anchorite pleasure-houses 
n the banks, as cheerful as a summer-house would be on Salis- 
ury Plain, I felt not sorry to have seen this lonely lake, 
nd still happier to leave it. There it lies- with crags all round 
:, in the midst of desolate plains : it escapes somewhere to the 
e,a ; its waters are salt : half a dozen boats lie here and there 
pon its banks, and we saw a small crew of boys plashing 
bout and swimming in it, laughing and yelling. It seemed a 
hame to disturb the silence so. 

The crowd of swaggering " gents " (I don't know the cor- 
ssponding phrase in the Anglo-Irish vocabulary to express a 
habby dandy) awaiting the Cork mail, which kindly goes 
A^enty miles out of its way to accommodate the towai of Skib- 
ereen, was quite extraordinary. The little street was quite 
locked up with shabby gentlemen, and shabby beggars, await- 
ig this daily phenomenon. The man who" had driven us to 



368 



THE IRIsrr SKETCH BOOK. 



Loughine did not fail to ask for his fee as driver ; and theT 
having received it, came forward in his capacity of boots an 
received another remuneration. The ride is desolate, ban 
and yet beautiful. There are a set of hills that keep one con 
pany the whole way ; they were partially hidden in a gray sk} 
which flung a general hue of melancholy too over the gree 
country through which v/e passed. There was only on 
wretched village along the road, but no lack of population 
ragged people who issued from their cabins as the coac 
passed, or were sitting by the wayside. Everybody seem 
sitting by the wayside here : one never sees this general repos 
in England — a sort of ragged lazy contentment. All th 
children seem to be on the watch for the coach ; waited veri 
knowingly and carefully their opportunity, and then hung o 
by scores behind. What a pleasure to run over flinty road 
with bare feet, to be whipped off, and to walk back to the cabi' 
again ! These were very different cottages to those neat one 
I had seen in Kildare. The wretchedness of them is quit; 
painful to look at ; many of the potato-gardens were half du; 
up, and it is only the first week in August, near three month 
before the potato is ripe and at full growth ; and the wint© 
still six months away. There were chapels occasionally, ano 
smart new-built churches — one of them h^s a congregation o 
ten souls, the coachman told me. Would it not be better tha 
the clergyman should receive them in his room, and that th' 
church-building money should be bestowed otherwise ? 

At length, after winding up all sorts of dismal hills specklei 
with wretched hovels, a ruinous mill every now and then, blacl 
bog-lands, and small winding str^^^ms, breaking here and ther- 
into little falls, we come upon so.iie ground well tilled an* 
planted, and descending (at no small risk from stumblin; 
horses) a bleak longhill, we see the water before us, and turn 
ing to the right by the har.vlsome little park of Lord Bearhaven 
enter Bantry. The harbor is beautiful. Small mountains ii 
green undulations rising on the opposite side ; great gray one 
farther back ; a pretty island in the midst of the water, whicl 
is v/onderfully bright and calm. A handsome yacht, and tW( 
or three vessels with their Sunday colors out, were lying in th' 
bay. It looked like a seaport scene at a theatre, gay, cheerful 
neat, and picturesque. At a little distance the town, too, i 
very pretty. There are some smart houses on the quays, : 
handsome court-house as. usual, a fine large hotel, and plent; 
of people flocking .round the wonderful coach. 

The town is most picturesquely situated, climbing up : 



THE JRfSH SKETCH BOOK, 369 

vvoodecl hill, with numbers of neat cottages here and there, an 
ugly church with an air of pretension, and a large grave Ro- 
man Catholic chapel the highest point of the place. The 
Main Street was as usual thronged with the squatting blue 
cloaks, carrying on their eager trade of buttermilk and green 
apples, and such cheap" wares. With the exception of this 
street and the quay, with their whitewashed and slated houses, 
it is a town of cabins. The wretchedness of some of them is quite 
curious : I tried to make a sketch of a row which lean against 
an old wall; and are built upon a rock that tumbles about in the 
II oddest and most fantastic shapes, with a brawling waterfall 
dashing down a channel in the midst. These are, it appears, 
the beggars' houses : any one may build a lodge against that 
wall, rent-free ; and such places were never seen ! As for 
drawing them, it was in vain to try ; one might as well make a 
sketch of a bundle of rags. An ordinary pigsty in England is 
' really more comfortable. Most of them were not six feet long 
' or five feet high, built of stones huddled together, a hole being 
left for the people to creep in at, a ruined thatch to keep out 
^some little portion of the rain. The occupiers of these places 
sat at their doors in tolerable contentment, or the children 
'f came down and washed their feet in the water. I declare I 
believe a Hottentot kraal has more comforts in it : even to 
^write of the place makes one unhappy, and the words move 
^ slow. But in the midst of all this misery there is an air of 
" actual cheerfulness ; and go but a few score yards off, and 
these wretched hovels lying together look really picturesque 
J and pleasing. 



CHAPTER IX. 

RAINY DAYS AT GLENGARIFF. 



A SMART two-horse car takes the traveller thrice a week 

[from Bantry to Killarney, by way of Glengariff and Kenmare. 

Unluckily, the rain was pouring down furiously as we passed 

'^to the first-named places, and we had only opportunity to see 

<a part of the astonishing beauty of the country. What sends 

picturesque tourists to the Rhine and Saxon Switzerland t 

within five miles round the pretty inn of Glengariff there is a 

24 



370 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 



country of the magnificence of which no pen can give an idea. 
I would Uke to be a great prince, and bring a train of painters 
over to make, if they could, and according to their several 
capabilities, a set of pictures of the place. Mr. Creswick would 
find such rivulets and waterfalls, surrounded by a luxuriance 
of foliage and verdure that only his pencil can imitate. As foi 
Mr. Catermole, a red -shanked Irishman should carry his 
sketching-books to all sorts of wild noble heights, and vast, 
rocky valleys, where he might please himself by piling crag 
upon crag, and by introducing, if he had a mind, some of the 
wild figures which peopled this country in old days. There is 
the Eagles' Nest, for instance, regarding which the Guide-book 
gives a pretty legend. The Prince of Bantry being conquered^Jj 
by the English soldiers, tied away, leaving his Princess ano 
children to the care of a certain faithful follower of his, whc' 
was to provide them with refuge and food. But the whole 
country was overrun by the conquerors ; all the flocks driver 
away by them, all the houses ransacked, and the crops burnii 
off the ground, and the faithful servitor did not know where ht 
should find a meal or a resting-place for the unhappy Princess ^ 
O'Donovan. 

He made, however, a sort of a 3hed by the side of a moun 
tain, composing it of sods and stones so artfully that no one 
could tell but that it was a part of the hill itself ; and here 
having speared or otherwise obtained a salmon, he fed theii 
Highnesses for the first day ; trusting to heaven for a meal wher 
the salmon should be ended. 

The Princess O'Donovan and her princely family soor 
came to an end of the fish ; and cried out for something more. 

So the faithful servitor, taking with him a rope and his littk 
son Shamus, mounted up to the peak where the eagles rested 
and, from the spot to which he climbed, saw their nest, ancjj, 
the young eaglets in it, in a cleft below the precipice. 

" Now," said he, " Shamus my son, you must take these 
thongs with you, and I will let you down by the rope " (it waj 
a straw-rope, which he had made himself, and though it mighi 
be considered a dangerous thread to hang by in other countries 
you'll see plenty of such contrivances in Ireland to the present 
day). 

" I will let you down by the rope, and you must tie the 
thongs round the necks of the eaglets, not so as to choke them, 
but to prevent them from swallowing much." So Shamus went 
down and did as his father bade him, and came up again when 
the eadets were doctored. 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



37' 



Presently the eagles came home : one bringing a rabbit and 
; other a grouse. These they dropped into the nest for the 
ang ones ; and soon after went away in quest of other ad- 



itures. 



Then Shamus went down into the eagles' nest again, gutted 
; grouse and rabbit, and left the garbage -to the eaglets (as 
s their right), and brought away the rest. And so the Prin- 
ts and Princes had game that night for their supper. How 
ig they lived in this way, the Guide-book does not say : but 

us trust that the Prince, if he did not come to his own again, 
s at least restored to his family and decently mediatized •. 

d, for my part, I have very little doubt but that Shamus, the 
Uant young eagle-robber, created a favorable impression upon 
e of the young Princesses, and (after many adventures in 
ich he distinguished himself,) was accepted by her Highness 
• a husband, and her princely parents for a gallant son-in-law. 

And here, while we are travelling to Glengariff, and order- 
\ painters about with such princely liberality (by the way, 
r. Stanfield should have a boat in the bay, and paint both 
;k and sea at his ease), let me mention a wonderful, awful 
:ident of real life which occurred on the road. About four 
les from Bantry, at a beautiful wooded place, hard by a mill 
^d waterfall, up rides a gentleman to the car with his luggage, 
ing to Killarney races. The luggage consisted of a small 
rpet-bag and a pistol-case. About two miles farther on, a 
low stops the car : " Joe," says he, " my master is going to 
e to Killarney, so you please to take his luggage." The lug- 
2^e consisted of a small carpet-bag, and — a pistol-case as be- 

e. Is this a gentleman's usual travelling baggage in Ireland t 
As there is more rain in this country than in any other, and 
therefore, naturally the inhabitants should be inured to the 

'father, and made to despise an inconvenience which they can- 
t avoid, the travelling-conveyances are arranged so that you 
lyget as much practice in being wet as possible. The travel- 
's baggage is stowed in a place between the two rows of seats, 
d which is not inaptly called the well, as in a rainy season 
Li might possibly get a bucketful of water out of that orifice, 
id I confess I saw, with a horrid satisfaction, the pair of pistol- 
:es lying in this moist aperture, with water pouring above 
nn and lying below them ; nay, prayed that all such weapons 
ght one day be consigned to the same fate. But as the waiter 
Bantry, in his excessive zeal to serve me, had sent my port- 
.nteau back to Cork by the coach, instead of allowing me to 
•ry it with me to Killarney, and as the rain had long since 



372 THE IRISH SKETCH HOOK. 

begun to insinuate itself under the seat-cushion and through t V 
waterproof apron of the car, 1 dropped off at Glengariff, a 
dried the only suit of clothes 1 had by the kitchen-fire. Ti- 
inn is very preUy : some thorn-trees stand before it, where map 
bare-legged people were lolling, in spite of the weather, 
beautiful bay stretches out before the house, the full tide wa 
ing the thorn-trees : mountains rise on either side of the lit 
bay, and there is an island, with a castle in it, in the midst, n; 
which a yacht was moored. But the mountains were har( 
visible for the mist, and the yacht, island, and castle looked 
if they had been washed against the fiat gray sky in Indian-iiJ 

The day did not clear up sufficiently to allow me to map 
any long excursion about the place, or indeed to see a v( 
wide prospect round about it ; at a few hundred yards, most 
the objects were enveloped in mist ; but even this, for a lo^ 
of the picturesque, had its beautiful effect, for you saw the h. 
in the foreground pretty clear, and covered with their wond 
ful green, while immediately behind them rose an immense bi- 
mass of mist and mountain that served to re/ieve (to use t: 
painter's phrase) the nearer objects. Annexed to the hotel 
a Hourishing garden, where the vegetation is so great that t 
landlord told me it was all lie could do to check the trees fn 
growing : round about the bay, in several places, they coi 
clustering down to the water's edge, nor does the salt-water 
terfere with them. 

Winding up a hill to the right, as you quit the inn, is t 
beautiful road to the cottage and park of Lord Bantry. O 
or two parties on pleasure bent went so far as the house, a 
were partially consoled for the dreadful rain which presen 
poured down upon them, by wine, whiskey, and refreshmei 
which the liberal owner of the house sent out to them. I n 
self had only got a few hundred yards when the rain overto 
me, and sent me for refuge into a shed, where a blacksmith h 
arranged a rude furnace and bellows, and where he was atwoi 
with a rough gilly to help him, and of course a lounger or f 
to look on. 

The scene was exceedingly wild and picturesque, and I to 
out a sketch-book and began to draw. The blacksmith was 
first very suspicious of the operation which I had commenced.) 
did the poor fellow's sternness at all yield until I made iiin 
present of a shilling to buy tobacco — when he, his friend, a 
his son became good-humored, and said their little say. Ti 
was the first shilling he had earned these three years : he w 
a small farmer, but was starved out, and had set up a for 



THE IRISH SK ETC f I BOOK. 373 

iere, and was trying to get a few pence. What struck me was 
he great number of people about the plaCe. We had at least 
wenty visits while the sketch was being made ; cars, and single 
md double horsemen, were continually passing ; between the 
ntervals of the shower a couple of ragged old women would 
;reep out from some hole and display baskets of green apples 
or sale : wet or not, men and women were lounging up and 
lown the road. You woiTld have thought it was a fair, and yet 
here was not even a village at this place, only the inn and post- 
louse, by which the cars to Tralee pass thrice a vv-eek. 
I The weather, instead of mending, on the second day was 
vorse than ever. All the view had disappeared now under a 
•ushing rain, of which I never saw anything like the violence. 
/Ve were visited by five maritime — nay, buccaneering-looking 
gentlemen in mustaches, with fierce caps and jackets, just 
anded from a yacht : and then the car brought us three Eng- 
ishmen wet to the skin and thirsting for whiskey-and-water. 

And with these three Englishmen a great scene occurred, 
iuch as we read of in Smollett's and Fielding's inns. One was 
I fat old gentleman from Cambridge — who, I was informed, 
vas a Fellow of a college in that university, but whom I shrewdly 
uspect * to be butler or steward of the same. The youngeV 
nen, burly, manly, good-humored fellows of seventeen stone, 
vere the nephews of the elder — who, says one, " could draw a 
:heck for his thousand pounds." 

I Two-and-twenty years before, on landing at the Pigeon- 
rlouse at Dublin, the old gentleman had been cheated bv a 
carman, and his firm opinion seemed to be that all carmen — 
lay, all Irishmen — were cheats. 

And a sad proof of this depravity speedily showed itself ; 
lOr having hired a three-horse car at Killarney, which was to 
:arry them to Bantry, the Englishmen saw. with immense indig- 
lation, after they had drank a series of glasses of whiskey, that 
he three-horse car had been removed, a one-horse vehicle 
standing in its stead. 

Their wrath no pen can describe. " I tell you they are all 
:o! " shouted the elder.' "When I landed at the Pigeon- 
.louse * * * *" '' Bring me a post-chaise ! " roars the second. 
'Waiter, get some more whiskey! " exclaims the third. "If 
hey don't send us on with three horses, I'll stop here for a 
veek." Then issuing, with his two young friends, into the pas- 
age, to harangue the populace assembled there, the elder 

* The isuspicion turned out to be correct. The gentleman is the respected cook (A 
\— — , as I learned afterwards from h casual Cambridge man. 



374 ^^^^ IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

Englishman began a speech about dishonesty, '' d — d rogue: 
and thieves, Pigeon-House : he was a gentleman, and wouldn' 
be done, d — n his eyes and everybody's eyes." Upon th( 
affrighted landlord, who came to interpose, they all fell witl 
great ferocity : the elder man swearing, especially, that h( 
" would write to Lord Lansdowne regarding his conduct, like 
wise to Lord Bandon, also to Lord Bantry : he was a gentle 
man ; he'd been cheated in the year 1815, on his first landir.t 
at the Pigeon-House : and, d — n the Irish, they were all alike.' 
After roaring and cursing for half an hour, a gentleman at tlic 
door, seeing the meek bearing of the landlord — who stood quit( 
lost and powerless in the whirlwind of rage that had been ex 
cited about his luckless ears — .^ai 1, " If men cursed and swor< 
in that way in his house, he would know how to put them out." 
" Put mc out ! " says one of the young men, placing himsel 
before that fat old blasphemer his relative. " Put vie out, m} 
fine fellow!" But it was evident the Irishman did not like 
his customer. " Put me out ! '*' roars the old gentleman, froiTj 

behind his young protector. " my eyes, who are you^ sir; 

who are you, sir } I insist on knowing who you are." 
" And who are you ? " asks the Irishman. 
"Sir, I'm a gentleman, and pay my way I and as soon as J 
get into Bantr)', I swear I'll write a letter to Lord Bandon Ban 
try, and complain of the treatment I have received here." 

Now, as the unhappy landlord had not said one single word; 
and as, on the contrary, to the annoyance of the whole house 
the stout old gentleman from Cambridge had been shouting, 
raging, and cursing for two hours, I could not help, like a grea^ 
ass as I was, coming forward and (thinking the landlord migh 
be a tenant of Lord Bantry's) saying, *' Well, sir, if you writt 
and say the landlord has behaved ill, I will write to say thai 
he has acted with extraordinary forbearance and civility." 

O fool ! to interfere in disputes where one set of the dispu 
tants have drunk half a dozen glasses of whiskey in the middk 
of the day ! No sooner had I said this than the other young 
man came and fell upon me, and in the course of a few minute; 
found leisure to tell me " that I was no gentleman ; that I wa? 
ashamed to give my name, or say where I lived ; that I was r 
liar, and didn't live in London, and couldn't mention the name 
of a single respectable person there ; that he was a merchani 
and tradesman, and hid his quality from no one;" and, finally, 
"that though bigger than himself, there was nothing he woulci 
like better than that I should come out on the green and stand 
to him like a man." 



THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 375 

This invitation, although repeated several times, I refused 
tjwith as much dignity as I could assume ; partly because I was 
55ober and cool, while the other was furious and drunk ; also be- 
cause I felt a strong suspicion that in about ten minutes the 
Binan would manage to give me a tremendous beating, which I 
did not merit in the least ; thirdly, because a victory over him 
■ would not have been productive of the least pleasure to me ; 
^md lastly, because there was something really honest and gal- 
lant in the fellow coming out to defend his old relative. Both 
hi the younger men would have fought like tigers for this dis- 
) reputable old gentleman, and desired no better sport. The last 
[ heard of the three was that they and the driver made their 
ippearance before a magistrate in Bantry ; and a pretty story 
^vill the old man have to tell to his club at the " Hoop," or the 
' Red Lion," of those swindling Irish, and the ill-treatment he 
net with in their country. 

As for the landlord, the incident will be a blessed theme of 
conversation to him for a long time to come. I heard him dis- 
coursing of it in the passage during the rest of the day ; and 
lext morning when I opened my window and saw with much 
klight the bay clear and bright as silver — except where the 
;reen hills were reflected in it, the blue sky above, and the 
>urple mountains round about with only a few clouds veiling 
lieir peaks — the first thing I heard was the voice of Mr. Eccles 
■epeating the story to a new customer. 

'' I thought thim couldn't be gintlemin," was the appropriate 
•emark of Mr. Tom the waiter, " from the way in which they 
:00k their whishky — raw with cold wather, widout mixi?ig or 
'nythingy Could an Irish waiter give a more excellent defini- 
ion of the ungenteel "> 

At nine o'clock in the morning of the next day, the unlucky 
:ar which had carried the Englishmen to Bantry came back to 
jlengariff, and as the morning was very fine, I was glad to take 
idvantage of it, and travel some five-and-thirty English miles to 
jCillarney. 



376 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



CHAPTER X. 

FROM GLENGARIFF TO KILLARNEY. 

The Irish car seems accommodated for any number of per- 
sons : it appeared to be full when we left Glengarift", for ai 
traveller from Bearhaven, and the five gentlemen from the 
yacht, took seats upon it with myself, and we fancied it was 
impossible more than seven should tjavel by such a convey- 
ance ; but the driver showed the capabilities of his vehicle?; 
presently. Hie journey from Glengarili to Kenmare is one "of I 
astonishing beauty; and I Jiave seen Killarney since, and ami 
sure that Glengariff loses nothing by comparison with ihis mosti 
famous of lakes. Rock, wood, and sea stretch around the 
traveller — a thousand delightful pictures : the landscape is atl 
first wild without being fierce, immense woods and plantations 
enriching the valleys — beautiful streams to be seen every- 
where. 

Here again I was surprised at the great population along 
the road ; for one saw but few cabins, and there is no village 
between Glengariff and Kenmare. But men and women were 
on banks and in fields ; children, as usual, came trooping up to 
the car ; and the jovial men of the yacht had great conversa- 
tions with most of the persons whom we met on the road. A 
merrier set of fellows it were hard to meet. '■ Should you like 
anything to drink, sir ? '' says one commencing the acquaint- 
ance. " We have the best whiskey in the world, and plenty of 
porter in the basket." Therewith the jolly seamen produced 
a long bottle of grog, which was passed round from one to an- 
other ; and then began singing, shouting, laughing, roaring for 
the whole journe3\ "British sailors have a knack, pull away 
— ho, boys ! " '• Hurroo, my fine fellow ! does your mother 
know you're out ? " " Hurroo, Tim Herlihy ! you're a flukc^ 
Tim Herlihy." One man sang on the roof, one hiirrod'd to the 
echo, another aposlrophized the aforesaid Herlihy as he passed 
grinning on a car ; a third had a pocket-handkerchief flaunting 
from a pole, v/ith which he performed exercises in the face of 
any horseman whom we met ; and great were their yells as the 
ponies shied off at the salutation and the riders swerved in 
their saddles. In the midst of this rattling chorus we went 
along : gradually the country grew wilder and more desolate, 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. ,>;7 

and we passed through a grim mountain region, bleak and 
bare, the road winding round some of the innumerable hills, 
and once or twice by means of a tunnel rushing boldly through 
them. One of these tunnels, they say, is a couple of Iiundred 
yards long ; and a pretty howling, I need not say, was made 
through that pipe of reck by the jolly yacht's crew. " We saw 
you sketching in the blacksmith's shed at Glengarilt," says one. 
and we wished we had you on board. Such a jolly life we led 
cf it ! " — They roved about the coast, they said, in their vessel : 
they feasted off the best of fish, mutton, and whiskey ; they had 
Gamble's turtle-soup on board, and fun from morning till niglil, 
and vice versa. Giadually it came out that there was not, owing 
to the tremendous rains, a dry corner in their ship: that they 
slung two in a huge hammock in the cabin, and that one of 
their crew had been ill, and shirked off. What a wonderful 
thing pleasure is ! To be wet all day and night ; to be scorched 
and blistered by the sun and rain ; to beat in and out of little 
harbors, and to exceed diurnally upon whiskey-punch — "faith, 
London, and an arm-chair at the club, are more to the tastes 
of some men. 

After much mountain-work of ascending and descending, 
(in which latter operation, and by the side of precipices that 
make passing cockneys rather squeamish, the carman drove 
like mad to the whooping and screeching of the red-rovers.) we 
at length came to Kenmare, of v.hich all that I know is that 
it lies prettily in a bay or arm of the sea ; that it is approached 
by a little hanging-bridge, which seems to be a wonder in these 
parts ; that it is a miserable little place when you enter it ; 
and that, finally, a splendid luncheon of all sorts of meat and 
excellent cold salmon may sometimes be had for a shilling at 
the hotel of the place. It is a great vacant house, like the 
rest of them, and would frighten people in England ; but after 
a few days one grows used to the Castle Rackrent style. I am 
not sure that there is not a certain sort cf com.fort to be had in 
these rambling rooms, and among these bustling, blundering 
waiters, which one does not always meet with in an orderly 
English house of entertainment. 

After discussing the luncheon, we found the car with fresh 
horses, beggars, idlers, policemen, &:c., standing round ot 
course ; and now the miraculous vehicle, which had held 
hitherto seven with some difficulty, was called upon to accom- 
modate thirteen. 

A pretty noise would our three Englishmen of yesterda}- — 
nay, any other Englishmen for the matter of that — have made. 



378 THE IRISH SKE TCII B O OK. 

if coolly called upon to admit an extra parly of four into a 
mail-coach ! The yacht's crew did not make a single objection ^ 
a couple clambered up on the roof, where they managed to 
locate themselves with wonderful ingenuity, perched upon 
hard wooden chests, or agreeably reposing upon the knotted: 
ropes which held them together : one of the new passengers: 
scrambled between the driver's legs, where he held on some- 
how, and the rest were pushed and squeezed astonishingly in 
the car. 

Now the fact must be told, that five of the new passengers' 
(I don't count a little boy besides) were women, and very pretty, 
gay, frolicsome, lively, kind-hearted, innocent women too; and 
for the rest of the journey there was no end of laughing and 
shouting, and singing, and hugging, so that the caravan pre- 
sented the appearance which is depicted \\\ the frontispiece ofl 
this work. 

Now it may be a wonder to some persons, that with such a 
cargo the carriage did not upset, or some of us did not fall off ; 
to which the answer is that we did fall off. A very pretty 
woman fell off, and showed a pair of never-mind-what-coloredj 
garters, and an interesting English traveller fell off too : buti 
heaven bless you ! these cars are made to fall off from ; and! 
considering the circumstances of the case, and in the same 
company, I would rather fall off than not. A great number of 
polite allusions and genteel inquiries were, as may be imagined, 
made by the jolly boat's crew. But though the lady affected 
to be a little angry at first, she was far too good-natured to be: 
angry long, and at last fairly burst out laughing with the pas- 
sengers. We did not fall off again, but held on very tight, and 
just as we were reaching Killarney, saw somebody else fall offl 
from another car. But in this instance the gentleman had no 
lady to tumble with. 

But almost half the way from Kenmare, this wild, beautiful 
road commands views of the famous lake and vast blue moun- 
tains about Killarney. Turk, Tomies, and Mangerton were 
clothed in purple like kings in mourning ; great heavy clouds 
were gathered round their heads, parting away every now and 
then, and leaving their noble features bare. The lake lay for 
some time underneath us, dark and blue, with dark misty 
islands in the midst. On the right-hand side of the road would 
be a precipice covered with a thousand trees, or a green rocky 
flat, with a reedy mere in the midst, and other mountains 
rising as far as we could see. I think of that diabolical tune; 
in " Der Freischutz " while passing through this sort of country. 



THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 37c) 

Every now and then, in the midst of some fresh country or in- 
closed trees, or at a turn of the road, you lose the sight of the 
great big awful mountain : but, like the aforesaid tune in " Der 
Frei^chutz," it is always there close at hand. You feel that 
it keeps you company. And so it was that we rode by dark 
old Mangerton, then presently past Muckross, and then through 
two miles of avenues of lime-trees, by numerous lodges and 
genlJemen's seats, across an old bridge, where you see the 
mountains again and the lake, until, by Lord Kenmare's 
house, a hic'e3us row of houses informed us that we were at 
Killarney. 

Here my companion suddenly let go my hand, and by a 
certain uneasy motion of the waist, gave me notice to withdraw 
the other too ; and we rattled up to the " Kenmare Arms : " 
and so ended, not without a sigh on my part, one of the mer- 
riest six-hour rides that five yachtmen, one cockney, five 
women and a child, the carman, and a countryman with an 
alpeep, ever took in their lives. 

As for my fellow-companion, she would hardly speak the 
next day ; but all the five maritime men made me vow and 
promise that I would go and see them at Cork, where I should 
have horses to ride, the fastest yacht out of the harbor to sail 
in, and the best of whiskey, claret, and welcome. Amen, and 
may every single person who buys a copy of this book meet 
with the same deserved fate. 

The town of Killarney was in a violent state of excitement 
with a series of horse-races, hurdle-races, boat-races, and stag- 
hunts by land and water, which were taking place, and attracted 
a vast crowd from all parts of the kingdom. All the inns were 
full, and lodgings cost five shillings a day — nay, more in some 
places ; for though my landlady, Mrs. Macgillicuddy, charges 
but that sum, a leisurely old gentleman whom I never saw in 
my life before made my acquaintance by stopping me in the 
street yesterday, and said he paid a pound a day for his two 
bedrooms. The old gentleman is eager for company ; and 
indeed, when a man travels alone, it is wonderful how little he 
cares to select his society ; how indifferent company pleases 
him ; how a good fellow delights him : how sorry he is when 
the time for parting comes, and he has to walk off alone, and 
begin the friendship-hunt over again. 

The first sight I witnessed at Killarney was a race-ordinary, 
where, for a suni of twelve shillings, any man could take his 
share of tiirbot, salmon, venison, and beef, with port, and 
sherry, and whiskey-punch at discretion. Here were the squires 



-So THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

of Cork and Kerry, one or two Englishmen, whose voice? 
amidst the rich liumming brogue round about sounded quite af 
lected (not that they were so, but there seems a sort of imper 
tinence in the shrill, high-pitched tone of the English ^•oicf 
here). At the head of the table, near the chairman, sat some 
brilliant young dragoons, neat, solemn, dull, with huge mus 
taches, and boots polished to a nicety. 

And here of course the conversation was of the l^orseT 
horsey : how Mr. Tliis had refused fifteen hundred guineas fo 
a horse which he bought for a hundred ; how Bacchus was th( 
best horse in Ireland ; which horses were to run at Something 
races ; and how the Marquis of Waterford gave a plate or ; 
purse. We drank " the Queen," with hip ! hip ! hurrah ! thi 
"winner of the Kenmare stakes" — hurrah! Presently th« 
gentleman next me rose and made a speech : he had brough 
a mare down and won the stakes — a hundred and sevent; 
guineas — and I looked at him with a great deal of respect 
Other toasts ensued, and more talk about horses. Nor am 
in the least disposed to sneer at gentlemen who like sportinii 
and talk about it: for I do believe that the conversation of : 
dozen fox-hunters is just as clever as that of a similar numbe 
of merchants, barristers, or literary men. But to this trade, a 
to all others, a man must be bred; if he has not learnt i 
thoroughly or in early life, he will not readily become a pre 
ficient afterwards, and when therefore the subject is broached 
had best maintain a profound silence. 

A young Edinburgh cockney, with an easy self-confidenc 
that the reader may have perhaps remarked in others of hi 
calling and nation, and who evidently knew as much of sportin_ 
matters as the individual who writes this, proceeded neverthcj 
less to give the company his opinions, and greatly astonished 
them all ; for these simple people are at first willing to believl 
that a stranger is sure to be a knowing fellow, and did not seer 
inclined to be undeceived even by this little pert, grinnin 
Scotchman. It was good to hear him talk of Haddingtoi 
Musselburgh — and heaven knows what strange outlandis 
places, as if they were known to all the world. And here woul 
be a good opportunity to enter into a dissertation upon natur; 
characteristics: to show that the bold, swaggering Irishmaij 
is really a modest fellow, while the canny Scot is a most brazen 
one ; to wonder why the inhabitant of one country is ashamei 
of it — which is in itself so fertile and beautiful, andhasproducec 
more than its fair proportion of men of genius, valor, and wit 
whereas it never enters into the head of a Scotchman to queg 

1 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



38: 



ion his own equality (and sometliing more) at all : but that 
luch discussions are quite unprofitable ; nay, that exactly the 
:ontrary propositions may be argued to just as much length, 
rias the reader ever tried with a dozen of De Tocqueville's 
;hort crisp philosophic apophthegms and taken the converse 
)f them ? The one or other set of propositions will answer 
equally well ; and it is the best way to avoid all such. Let the 
ibove passage, then, simply be understood to say, that on a 
certain day the writer met a vulgar little Scotchman — not that 
dl Scotchmen are vulgar ; — that this little pert creature prattled 
ibout his country as if he and it were ornaments to the world 
—which the latter is, no doubt ; and that one could not but 
;ontrast his behavior with that of great big stalwart simple 
Tishmen, who asked your opinion of their country with as much 
noiiesty as if you — because an Englishman — must be somebody, 
md they the dust of the earth. 

Indeed, this want of self-confidence at times becomes quite 
gainful to the stranger. If in reply to their queries, you say 
''ou like the country, people seem really quite delighted. Why 
^.houldthey? Why should a stranger's opinion who doesn't 
':now the country be more valued than a native's who does t — 
Suppose an Irishman in England were to speak in praise or 
libuse of the country, would one be j^articularly pleased or 
[tnnoyed ? One would be glad that the man liked his trijD ; but 
is for his good or bad opinion of the country, the country stands 
)n its own bottom, superior to any opinion of any man or men. 

I must beg pardon of the little Scotchman for reverting to 
dm (let it be remembered that there were two Scotchmen at 
Cillarney, and that I sjDeak of the other one) ; but I have seen 
10 specimen of that sort of manners in any Irishman since I 
lave been in the country. I have met more gentlemen here 
han in any place I ever saw : gentlemen of high and low ranks, 
hat is to say :. men shrewd and delicate of perception, observ- 
.nt of society, entering into the feelings of others, and anxious 
o set them at ease or to gratify them ; of course exaggerating 
heir professions of kindness, and in so far insincere ; but the 
'ery exaggeration seems to be a proof of a kindly nature, and 
wish in England we were a little more complimentary. In 
!)ublin, a lawyer left his chambers, and a literary man his 
iooks, to walk the town with me — the town, which they must 
:now a great deal too well : for, pretty as it is, it is but a small 
lace after all, not like that great bustling, changing, struggling 
/orld, the Englishman's capital. Would a London man leave 
is business to trudge to the Tower or the Park with a stran- 



382 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

ger ? We would ask him to dine at the club, or to eat whitebait 
at Lovegrove's, and think our duty done, neither caring for him,, 
nor professing to care for him ; and we pride ourselves on ouri 
honesty accordingly. Never was honesty more selfish. And^ 
so' a vulgar man in England disdains to flatter his equals, and 
chiefly displays his character of snob by assuming as much as 
he can for himself, swaggering and showing off in his coarse, 
dull, stupid way. 

" I am a gentleman, and pay my way," as the old fellow 
said at Glengariff. I have not heard a sentence near so vulgar; 
from any man in Ireland. Yes, by the way, there was another: 
Englishman at Cork : a man in a middling, not to say humble, , 
situation of life. When introduced to an Irish gentleman, his 
formula seemed to be, " I think, sir, I have met you somewhere 
before." " I am sure, sir, I have met you before," he said, for 
the second time in my hearing, to a gentleman of great note in 

Ireland. " Yes, I have met you at Lord X 's." " I don't 

know my Lord X ," replied the Irishman. "Sir," says the 

other, "/ shall have great pleasure in inirodiici7ig yoti to him." 
Well, the good natured simple Irishman thought this gentleman 
a very fine fellow. There was only one, of some dozen who 
spoke about him, that found out Snob. I suppose the Span- 
iards lorded it over the Mexicans in this way: their drummers 
passing for generals among the simple red men, their glass 
beads for jewels, and their insolent bearing for heroic superi- 
ority. 

Leaving, then, the race-ordinary (that little Scotchman with 
his airs has carried us the deuce knows how far out of the way), 
I came home just as the gentlemen of the race were beginning 
to "mix," that is, to forsake the wine for the punch. At the 
lodgings I found my five companions of the morning with a 
bottle of that wonderful whiskey of which they spoke ; and which 
they had agreed to exchange against a bundle of Liverpool 
cigars : so we discussed them, the whiskey, and other topics in 
common. Now there is no need to violate the sanctity of 
private life, and report the conversation which took place, the 
songs which were sung, the speeches which were made, and the 
other remarkable events of the evening. Suffice it to say, that 
the English traveller gradually becomes accustomed to whiskey- 
punch (in moderation of course), and finds the beverage very 
agreeable at Killarney ; against which I recollect a protest was 
entered at Dublin. 

But after we had talked of hunting, racing, regatting, and 
all other sports, I came to a discovery which astonished me, 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



383 



and for which these honest, kind fellows are mentioned publicly 
here. The portraits, or a sort of resemblance of four of them, 
may be seen in the foregoing drawing of the car. The man with 
the straw hat and handkerchief tied over it is the captain of 
an Indiaman ; three others, with each a pair of mustaches, 
sported yacht-costumes, jackets, club anclior-buttons, and so 
forth ; and, finally, one on the other side of the car (who can 
not be seen on account of the portmanteaus, otherwise the 
likeness would be perfect,) was dressed with a coat and a hat 
in the ordinary way. One with the gold band and mustache is 
a gentleman of property ; the other three are attorneys every 
man of them : two in large practice in Cork and Dublin, the 
other, and owner of the yacht, under articles to the attorney 
of Cork. Now did any Englishman ever live with three at- 
torneys for a whole day without hearing a single syllable of law 
spoken ? Did we ever see in our country attorneys with mus- 
taches ; or, above all, an attorney's clerk owner of a yacht of 
thirty tons ? He is a gentleman of property too — the heir, 
that is, to a good estate ; and has had a yacht of his own, he 
says, ever since he was fourteen years old. Is there any Eng- 
lish boy of fourteen who commands a ship with a crew of five 
men under him ? We all agreed to have a boat for the stag- 
hunt on the lake next day ; and I went to bed wondering at 
this strange country more than ever. An attorney with mus- 
taches ! What would they say of him in Chancery Lane .'' 



CHAPTER XI. 

KILLARNEY — STAG-HUNTING ON THE LAKE. 

Mrs. Macgillicuddy's house is at the corner of the two 
principal streets of Killarney town, and the drawing-room win- 
dows command each a street. Before one window is a dismal, 
rickety building, with a slate face, that looks like an ex-town- 
hall. There is a row of arches to the ground floor, the angles 
at the base of which seem to have mouldered or to have been 
kicked away. Over the centre arch is a picture with a flour- 
ishing yellow inscription above, importing that it is the meeting- 
place of the Total Abstinence Society. Total abstinence is 
represented by the figure of a gentleman in a blue coat and 



384 ^'^^^^ IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

drab tights, with gilt garters, who is giving his hand to a lady \ 
between them is an escutcheon surmounted with a cross and 
charged with religious emblems. Cupids float above the heads 
and between the legs of this happy pair, while an exceedingly 
small tea-table with the requisite crockery reposes against the 
lady's knee ; a still, with death's-head, and bloody-bones, fill- 
ing up the naked corner near the gentleman. A sort of mar- 
ket is held here, and the place is swarming with blue cloaks 
and groups of men talking ; here and there is a stall with 
coarse linens, crockery, and cheese ; and crowds of egg and 
milk-women are squatted on the pavement, with their ragged 
customers or gossips ; and the yellow-haired girl on the next 
page, with a barrel containing nothing at all, has been sitting, 
as if for her portrait, this hour past. 

Carts, cars, jingles, barouches, horses and vehicles of all 
descriptions rattle presently through the streets : for the town 
is crowded with company for the races and other sports, and 
all the world is bent to see the stag-hunt on the lake. Where 
the ladies of the Macgillicuddy family have slept, heaven 
knows, for their house is full of lodgers. What voices you 
hear ! " Bring me some hot wa/^//," says a genteel, high-piped 
English voice. " Hwhere's me hot wather.?" roars a deep- 
toned Hibernian. See, over the way, three ladies in ringlets 
and green tabinet taking their " tay " preparatory to setting 
out. I wonder whether they heard the sentimental songs of 
the law-marines last night ? They must have been edified if! 
they did. 

My companions came, true to their appointment, and we 
walked down to the boats, lying at a couple of miles from the 
town, near the " Victoria Inn," a handsome mansion, in pretty 
grounds, close to the lake, and owned by the patriotic Mr. 
Finn, A nobleman offered Finn eight hundred pounds for the 
use of his house during the races, and, to Finn's eternal honor 
be it said, he refused the money, and said he would keep his 
house for his friends and patrons, the public. Let the Cork 
Steam-Packet Company think of this generosity on the part of 
Mr. Finn, and blush for shame ; at the Cork Agricultural Show 
they raised their fares, and were disappointed in their spec- 
ulation, as they deserved to be, by indignant Englishmen re- 
fusing to go at all. 

The morning had been bright enough ; but for fear of 
accidents we took our mackintoshes, and at about a mile from 
the town found it necessary to assume those garments and 
wear them for the greater part of the day. Passing by the 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 385 

"Victoria," with its beautiful walks, park, and lodge, we came 
to a little creek where the boats were moored ; and there was the 
wonderful lake before us, with its mountains, and islands, and 
trees. Unluckily, however, the mountains happened to be in- 
vi3ible ; the islands looked like gray masses in the fog, and ^11 
that we could see for some time was the gray silhouette of the 
boat ahead of us, in which a passenger was engaged in a witty 
conversation with some boat still further in the mist. 

Drumming and trumpeting was heard at a little distance, 
and presently we found ourselves in the midst of a fleet of 
boats upon the rocky shores of the beautiful little Innisfallen. 

Here we landed for a while, and the weather clearing up 
allowed us to see this charming spot : rocks, shrubs, and little 
abrupt rises and falls of ground, covered with the brightest 
emerald grass ; a beautiful little ruin of a Saxon chape!, lying 
gentle, delicate, and plaintive on the shore ; some noble trees 
round about it, and beyond, presently, the 'tower of Ross 
Castle : island after island appearing in the clearing sunshine, 
and the huge hills throwing their misty veils off, and wearing 
their noble robes of purple. The boats' crews were grouped 
about the place, and one large barge especially had landed 
some sixty people, being the Temperance band, with its drums, 
trumpets, and wives. They were marshalled by a grave old 
-getjtleman with a white waistcoat and queue, a silver medal 
decorating one side of his coat, and a brass heart reposing on 
the other flap. The horns performed some Irish airs prettily; 
and at length, at the instigation of a fellow who went swagger- 
ing about vv'ith a pair of whirling drumsticks, all formed to- 
gether and played Garryowen — the active drum of course most 
dreadfully out of time. 

Having strolled about the island for a quarter of an hour, it 
became time to take to the boats again, and we were rov/ed 
over to the wood opposite Sullivan's cascade, where the hounds 
had been laid in in the morning, and the stag was expected to 
take water. Fifty or sixty men are employed on the mountain 
to drive the stag lakewards, should he be inclined to break 
away: and the sport generally ends by the stag — a wild one — ■ 
making for the water with the pack swimming afterwards ; and 
here he is taken and disposed of : how I know not. It is 
rather a parade than a stag-hunt ; but, with all the boats around 
and the noble view, must be a fine thing to see. 

Presently, steering his barge, the " Erin," with twelve oars 
and a green flag sweeping the water; came by llie president of 
the sports, Mr. John O'C'onnell, a gentleman v.-ho aj^pears to be 



386 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

liked by rich and poor here, and. by the latter especially is 
adored. " Sure we'd dhrown ourselves for him," one man told 
me : and proceeded to speak eagerly in his praise, and to tell 
numberless acts of his generosity and justice. The justice is 
rather rude in this wild country sometimes, and occasionally the 
judges not only deliver the sentence biit execute it ; nor does 
any one think of appealing to any more regular jurisdiction. 
The likeness of Mr. O'Connell to his brother is very striking ; 
one might have declared it was the Liberator sitting at the stern 
of the boat. 

Some scores more boats were there, darting up and down in 
the pretty, busy waters. Here came a Cambridge boat ; and 
where, indeed, will not the gentlemen of that renowned univer- 
sity be found ? Yonder were the dandy dragoons, stiff, silent, 
slim, faultlessly appointed, solemnly puffing cigars. Every now 
and then a hound would be heard in the wood, whereon num- 
bers of voices, right and left, would begin to yell in chorus — 
" Hurroo ! Hoop ! Vow — yow — yow ! " in accents the most shrill 
or the most melancholious. Meanwhile the sun had had enough 
of the sport, the mountains put on their veils again, the islands 
retreated into the mist, the .word went through the fleet to 
spread all umbrellas, and ladies took shares of mackintoshes 
and disappeared under the flaps of silk cloaks. 

The wood comes down to the very edge of the water, and 
many of the crews thought fit to land and seek tliis green 
shelter. There you miglit see how the da7idii(m sunwid genus 
hasit ulmo, clambering up tliither to hide from the rain, and 
many " membra " in dabbled russia-ducks cowering viridi sub 
arhuto ad aguce leiie caput. To behold these moist dandies the 
natives of the country came eagerly. Strange, savage faces 
might be seen peering from out of the trees : long-haired, bare- 
legged girls came down the hill, some with green apples and 
very sickly-looking plums ; some with whiskey and goat's milk : 
a ragged boy had a pair of stag's horns to sell : the place 
swarmed with people. We went up thje hilj to see the noble 
cascade, and when you say that it comes rushing down over 
rock and through tangled woods, alas ! one has said all the 
dictionary can help you to, and not enough to distinguish 
this particular cataract from any other. This seen and 
admired, we came back to the harbor v\rhere the boats lay, 
and from which spot the reader might have seen the lake 
■ — that IS, you would see the lake, if the mist would only clear 
awa^^ 

But this for hours it did not seem inclined to do. We 



THE IRISrr SKETClf BOOK. 387 

rowed up and dowii industriously for a period of time which 
seemed to me atrociously long, The bugles of the " Erin " 
had long since sounded " ilome, sweet home ! " and the greater 
part of the fleet had dispersed. As for the stag-hunt, all I saw 
of it was four dogs that appeared on the shore at different 
intervals, and a huntsman in a scarlet coat, who similarly came 
and went : once or twice we were gratified by hearing the 
hounds ; but at last it w\as agreed that there was no chance for 
the day, and we rowed off to Kenmare Cottage — where, on the 
lovely lawn, or in a cottage adjoining, the gentry picnic, and 
where, with a handkerchiefful of potatoes, we made as pleasant 
a meal as ever I recollect. Here a good number of the boats 
were assembled ; here you might see cloths spread and dinner 
going on ; here were those wonderful officers, looking as if they 
had just stepped from bandboxes, with — by heavens ! — not a 
shirt-collar disarranged nor a boot dimmed by the wet. An 
old piper was making a very feeble music, with a handkerchief 
spread over his face ; and, farther on, a little smiling German 
boy was playing an accordion, and singing a ballad of Hauff's. 
I had a silver medal in my pocket, with Victoria on one side 
and Britannia on the other, and gave it him, for the sake of 
old times and his round friendly face. Oh, little German boy, 
many a night as you trudge lonely through this wild land, must 
you yearn after Brudcrlein and Sdnvesierlein at home — yonder 
in stately Frankfurt city that lies by silver Mayn. 1 thought 
of vineyards and sunshine, and the greasy clock ii the theatre, 
and the railroad all the way to Wiesbaden, and the handsome, 
Jew country-houses by the Bockenheimer-Thor. -^ *- ■* ^ 
"Come along," says the boatman. "All the gintlemin are 
waiting for your honor." And I found them finishing the pota- 
toes, and we all had a draught of water from the lake, and so 
pulled to the middle of Turk Lake through the picturesque 
green rapid that floats under Brickeen Bridge. 

What is to be said about Turk Lake ? When there, we 
agreed that it was more beautiful than the large lake, of which 
it is not one-fourth the size ; then, when we came back, we said, 
"No, the large lake is the most beautiful." And so, at every 
point we stopped at, we determined that that particular spot 
was the prettiest in the whole lake. The fact is — and I don't 
care to own it — they are too handsome. As for a man coming 
from his desk in London or Dublin and seein':^ "the whole 
lakes in a day," he is an ass for his pains ; a child doing sums 
in addition might as well read the whole multiplication-table, 
and fancy he had it by heart. We should look at tiiese won 



-SS THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

derl'iil things leisurely and thoughtfully ; and even then, blessed 
i;^ he who understands them. I wonder what impression the 
slcrht made upon the three tipsy Englishmen at Giengariff ? 
Wiiat idea of natural beauty belongs to an old fellow who says 
he is " a gentleman, and pays his way ? " What to a jolly fox- 
h.unter, who had rather see a good " screeching " run with the 
liounds than the best landscape ever painted ? And yet they 
all come hither, and go through the business regularly, and 
would not miss seeing every one of the lakes and going up 
every one of the hills. By which circumlocution the writer 
v.ishes ingenuously to announce that he will not see any more 
lakes, ascend any mountains or towers, visit any gaps of Dun- 
loe, or any prospects whatever, except such as nature shall 
tiing in his way in the course of a quiet reasonable walk. 

In tlie Middle Lake we were carried to an' island where a 
ceremony of goat's-milk and whiskey is performed by some 
travellers, and where you are carefully conducted to a spot that 
" Sir Walter Scott admired more than alf.'' Whether he did or 
not, we can only say on the authority of the boatman ; but the 
place itself was a quiet nook, where three waters meet, and in- 
deed of no great picturesqueness when compared with the 
beauties around. But it is of a gentle, homely beauty — not like 
tlie lake, which is as a princess dressed f ut in diamonds and 
Aclvet for a drawing-room, and knowing herself to be faultless 
too. As for Innisfallen, it was just as if she gave one smiling 
peep into the nursery before she went away, so quiet, innocent, 
and tender is that lovely spot ; but, depend on it, if there is a 
lake fairy or princess, as Crofton Croker and other historians 
assert, she is of her nature a vain creature, proud of her person, 
and fond of the llnest dresses to adorn it. May 1 confess that 
X would rather, for a continuance, have a house facing a pad- 
dock, with a cow in it, than be always looking at this immense, 
overpowering splendor. You would not, my dear brother 
c:ockney from Toolcy Street } No, those brilliant eyes of thine 
were never meant to gaze at anything less bright than the sun. 
^'our miglny spirit finds nothing too vast for its com.prehension, 
M)urns what is huml)le as unworthy, and onl}', like Foote's bear, 
tlances to " the genteelest of tunes." 

The long and short of the matter is, that on getting off the 
lake, after seven hours' rowing, I felt as much relieved as if I 
l-r.d been dimng for t.he same length of time with her Majesty 
tlie Queen, and went jumping home as gayly as possible ; but 
those marine lawyers insisted so piteously upon seeing Ross 
Castle, close to which we were at len?-t]i landed, that \ v;a«! 



THE IRISH SKE'I'Cn BOOK'. 



3S9 



obliged (in spite of repeated oaths to the contrary) to ascend 
that tower, and take a bird's eye view of the scene. Thank 
heaven, I have neither tail nor wings, and have not the slightest 
wish to be a bird : that continual immensity of prospect which 
stretches beneath those little wings of theirs must deaden their 
intellects, depend on it. Tomkins and I are not made for the 
immense : we can enjoy a little at a time, and enjoy that little 
very much ; or if like birds, wc are like the ostrich— not that 
we have fine feathers to our backs, but because we cannot fiy. 
Press us too much, and we become flurried, and run off and bury 
our heads in the quiet bosom of dear mother earth, and so get 
rid of the din, and the dazzle, and the shouting. 

Because we dined upon potatoes, that was no reason we 
should sup on buttermilk. Well, well ! salmon is good, and 
whiskey is good too. 



CHAPTER XII. 

KILLARNEY THE RACES MUCKROSS. 

The races were as gay as races could be, in spite of one or 
two untoward accidents that arrived at the close of the day's 
sport. Where all the people came from that thronged out of 
the town was a wonder ; where all the vehicles, the cars, 
barouches and shandrydans, the carts, the horse and donkey- 
men could have found stable and shelter, who can tell ? Of all 
these equipages and donkeypages I had a fine view from Mrs. 
Macgillicuddy's wdndow, and it was pleasant to see tlie happy 
faces shining under the blue cloaks as the carts rattled by. 

A very handsome young lady — I presume Miss MacG. — 
who gives a hand to the drawing-room and comes smiling. in 
with the teapot— INIiss M'acG., I say, appeared to-day in a silk 
bonnet and stiff silk dress, with a brooch and a black mantle, 
as smart as any lady in the land, and looking as if she was ac- 
customed to her dress too, which the housemaid on banks of 
Thames does not. Indeed, I have not met a more ladylike 
young person in Ireland than Miss MacG. ; and when I sav/ 
her in a handsome car on the course, I w^as quite proud of a 
bow. 

Tramping thither, too, as hard as they could walk, and as 
happy and smiling as possible, were Mary the coachman's wife 



39^ 



THE IRISH S KEITH BOOK. 



of the day before, and Johanna with the child, and pvesenlly 
the other young lady : the man with the stick, you may be sure : 
he would toil a year for that day's pleasure. They are all mad 
for it : people walk for miles and miles round to the race ; they 
come without a penny in their pockets often, trusting to chance 
and charity, and that some worthy gentleman may fling them a 
sixpence. A gentleman told me that he saw on the course per- I 
sons from his part of the country, who must have walked eightyi 
miles for the sport. \ 

For a mile and a half to the racecourse there could be no 
pleasanter occupation than looking at the happy multitudes 
who were thronging thither ; and I am bound to say that on 
rich or poor shoulders I never saw so many handsome faces in 
my life. In the carriages, among the ladies of Kerry, every 
second woman was handsome ; and there is something pecu- 
liarly tender and pleasing in the looks of the young female 
peasantiy that is perhaps even, better than beauty. Beggars 
had taken their stations along the road in no great numbers, 
for I suspect they were most of them on the ground, and those 
who remained were consequently of the oldest and ugliest. It 
is a shame that such horrible figures are allowed to appear in 
public as some of the loathsome ones which belong to these 
unhappy people. On went the crowd, however, laughing and 
as gay as possible ; all sorts of fun passing from car to foot- 
passengers as the pretty girls came clattering by, and the " boys *' 
had a word for each. One lady, with long flowing auburn hair, 
who was turning away her head from some *' boys " very de- 
murely, I actually saw, at a pause of the cart, kissed by one of 
them. She i^ave the fellow a huo'C box on the ear and he roared 
out, " O murther ! " and she frowned for some time as hard as 
she could, whilst the ladies in the blue cloaks at the back of 
the car uttered a shrill rebuke in Irish. But in a minute the 
whole party was grinning, and the young fellow who had ad- 
ministered the salute may, for what I know, have taken an- 
other without the slap on the face by way of exchange. 

And here, lest the fair public may have a bad opinion of the 
personage who talks of kissing with such awful levity, let it l:e 
said that with all this laughing, romping, kissing, and the like, 
there are no more innocent girls in the world than the Irish 
girls ; and that the women of our squeamish country are far 
more liable to err. One has but to walk through an English 
and Irish town, and see how much superior is the morality of 
the latter. That great terror-striker, the Confessional, is before 
the Irish jjirl, and sooner or later her sins must be told there. 



THE fRISH SKEIVH BOOK. 3gi 

By this time we are got upon the course, which is really one 
of the most beautiful spots that ever was seen : the lake and 
mountains lying along two sides- of it, and of course visible 
from all. They were busy putting up the hurdles when we ar- 
rived : stiff bars and poles, four feet from the ground, with 
furze-bushes over them. The grand stand was already full ; 
along the hedges sat thousands of the people, sitting at their 
ease doing nothing, and happy as kings. A daguerreotype v/ould 
have been of great service to have taken their portraits, and I 
never saw a vast multitude of heads and attitudes so pictur- 
esque and lively. The sun lighted up the whole course and 
the lakes with amazing brightness, though behind the former 
lay a huge rack of the darkest clouds, against which the corn- 
fields and meadows shone in the brightest green and gold, 
and a row of white tents was quite dazzling. 

There was a brightness and intelligence about this immense 
Irish crowd, which I don't remember to have seen in an Eng- 
lish one. The women in their blue cloaks, with red smilirg 
faces peering from one end, and bare feet from the other, had 
seated themselves in all sorts of pretty attitudes of cheerful con- 
templation ; and the men, who are accustomed to lie about, were 
doing so now with all their might — sprawling on the banks, 
with as much ease and variety as club-room loungers on their 
soft cushions, — or squatted leisurely among the green potatoes. 
The sight of so much happy laziness did one good to look on. 
Nor did the honest fellows seem to weary of this amusement. 
Hours passed on, and the gentlefolks (judging from our party) 
began to grow somewhat weary; but the finest peasantry in 
Europe never budged from their posts, and continued to indulge 
in greetings, indolence, and conversation. 

When we came to the row of white tents, as usual it did not 
look so brilliant or imposing as it appeared from a little dis- 
tance, though the scene around them was animating enough. 
The tents were long humble booths stretched on hoops, each 
with its humble streamer or ensign without, and containing, of 
course, articles of refre'shment within. But Father Mathew 
has been busy among the publicans, and the consequence is 
that the poor fellows are now condemned for the most part to 
sell " tay " in place of whiskey ; for the concoction of which 
beverage huge cauldrops were smoking, in front of each luit- 
door, in round graves dug for the purpose and piled up with 
black smoking sod. 

Behind this camp were the carts of the poor people, which 
[were not allowed to penetrate into the quarter where the 



^ o 2 TfrK [RISIJ SKE TCH B O OK. 

qiiaaiy cars sioocl. And a little way from the luits, a.-ain, you 
miccht see (for you could scarcely hear) certain pipe-s executing 
their melodies and inviting people to dance. 

Anything more lugubrious than the drone of the pipe, or 
the jig danced .to it, or the countenances of the dancers and 
musicians, I never saw. Round each set of dancers the peo- 
ple formed a ring, in tiie v/hich the figurantes and coryphees i, 
v/ent through their operations. The toes went in and the toes . 
went out ; th.en there came certain mystic figures of hands 
across, and so forth. \ never saw less grace or seemingly less \ 
enjoyment — no, not even in a quadrille. The people, howeve] 
took a 5:reat interest, and it v»as "Well done, Tim ! " " Step i, 
out. Miss Brady ! '' and so forth during the dance. 

Thimble-rig too obtained somewhat, though in a humble 
uay. *A ragged scoundrel — the image of Hogartivs Bad Ap- 
prentice — went bustling and shouting through the crowd with,, 
his dirty tray and thimble, and as soon as he had taken his^ 
post, stated that this was the "royal game of thimble" and! 
called upon " ginflemen " to come forward. And then a ragged 
fellow would be seen to approach, with as innocent iin air as 
he cc'uld assume, and the bystanders might remark that the 
second ragged fellow almost always w^on. Nay, he v.as ro 1 ene- 
volent, in many instances, as to point out to various people v.hr> 
had a mind to bet, under which thimble the pea actually was.J 
Meanwhile, the first fellow was sure to be looking riway and 
lalkirg to some one in the crowd ; but somehow it generall}; 
happened — and how of course I can't tell — that any man who 
listened to the advice of rascal No. 2, lost his money. I be- 
lieve it is so even in England. 

Then you would see gentlemen with halfpenny roulette- 
tables ; and, again, here were a pair who came forward disin- 
terestedly with a table and a pack of cards, and began playing 
against each other for ten shillings a game, betting crowns as 
freely as possible. 

Gambling, however, must have been fatal to both of tiies( 
gentlemen, else might not one have supposed that, if they were ii 
the habit of winning much, they would have treated themselves 
to better clothes ? This, however, is the way with all gambler< 
as the reader has no doubt remarked : for, look at a game of lo( 
or inngt-et-un played in a friendly way, «ind where you, and thre* 
or four others, have certainly lost three or four pounds,- — well 
ask at the end of the game who has won, and you invarial.il^ 
(ind that nobody has. Hopkins has only covered liimseif 
Snooks has neither lost nor won ; Smith has won four shillings 



THK IR rs/r Sk'E TCir B O OA'. -Mr. 

O -J . ) 

nd so on. Who gets Uie money ? The devil p,els it. 1 dare 
ay ; and so, no doubt, he has laid hold of the money of yonder 
entleman in the handsome great-coat. 

But, to the shame oi; the stewards be it spoken, they are ex- 
remely averse to this kind of sport ; and presentiy comes up 
ne. a stout old gentleman on a bav horse, wielding a huge hunt- 
ig-whip, at the Fight of wiiich nil i\\\ amateurs, idlers, profes- 
ional men and all. He is a rude ciiSLomer to deal Vv'ith, that 
entleman with the whip ; just now he was clearing tlie course, 
nd cleared it with such a vengeance, that a whole troop on 
hedge retreated backward into a ditch opposite, where was 
are kicking, and sprawling, and disarrangement of petticoats, 
nd cries of " O murther ! " " Mother of God ! " '' I'm kilt ! " 
nd so on. But as soon as the horsewhip was gone, the people 
lambered out of their ditch again, and were as tliick as ever on 
!x* bank. 

The last instance of the exercise of tlie whip shall be this. 
L groom rode insolently after a gentleman, calling him names, 
nd inviting him to fight. This the great flagellator hearing, 
:ide \v^ to the groom, lifted him gracefully off his. horse into the 
ir, and on to the ground, and when there administered to him 
severe and merited fustigation ; after which he told the course- 
eepers to drive the fellow off the course, and enjoined the 
atter not to appear again at his peril. 

As for the races themselves, I won't pretend to say that 
hey were better or worse than other such amusement : or to 
[uarrel with gentlem'en who choose to risk their lives in manly 
\ercise. In the first race there was a fall : one of the gentle- 
nen was carried off the ground, and it was said he 7uas deoii. 
n the second race, a horse and man went over and over each 
ther,and the fine young man (we had seen him five minutes be- 
ore, full of life and triumph, clearing the hurdles on his gray 
lorse, at the head of the race) : — in the second heat of t'le 
econd race the poor fellow missed his leap, was carried awny 
.tunned and dying, and the bay horse won. 

I was standing, during the first heat of this race, (this is 
he second man the gray has killed — they ought to call him tl e 
^ale Horse.) by half a dozen young girls from the gentlemar. s 
'"illage, and hundreds more of them were there, anxious for tl e 
lonor of their village, the young squire, and the gray hor;.c. 
'Dh, how they hurrah'd as he rode ahead ! I saw these girl: -~ 
Ihey might be fourteen years old — after the catastrojjhe. 
•Well," says I, " this is a sad end to the race." ''And is it 
'hi''pin7z J.iiki:' or the hlue has won this time I " says one of ihf 



394 T^^^ IRISH SKETCH BOO A". 

girls. It was poor Mr. C 's only epitaph : and wasn't it a 

sporting answer.? That girl ought to be a hurdle-racer's wife ; 
and I would like, for my part, to bestow her upon the groom 
who won the race. 

I don't care to confess that the accident to the poor young 
gentleman so thoroughly disgusted my feeling as a man and a 
cockney, that I turned off the racecourse short, and hired a 
horse for sixpence to carry me back to Miss Macgillicuddy. 
In the evening, at the inn, (let no man who values comfort 
go to an Irish inn in race-lime,) a blind old piper, with silvery 
hair and of a most respectable, bard-like appearance, played a 
great deal too much for us after dinner. He played very well, 
and with very much feeling, ornamenting the airs withflourishes 
and variations that were very pretty indeed, and his pipe was 
by far the most melodious I have heard ; but honest truth com- 
pels me to say. that the bad pipes are execrable, and the good 
inferior to a clarionet. 

Next day. instead of going back to the racecourse, a car 
drove me out to Muckross, where, in Mr. Herbert's beautiful 
grounds, lies the prettiest little bijoji of a ruined abbey ever 
seen — a little cl:apel with a little chancel, a little cloister, a 
little dormitorv, and in the midst of the cloister a wonderful 
huge yew-tree w^hich darkens the whole place. The abbey is ■ 
famous in book and le;;end ; nor could two young lovers, or ■ 
artists in search of the picturesque, or picnic-parties with the ; 
cold chicken and cltampagne in the distance, find a more ■ 
charming place to while away a summer's day than in the park 
of Mr. Herbert. But depend on it, for show-places and the 
due enjoyment of scenery, tliat distance of cold chickens and 
champagne is the most pleasing perspective one. can have. I 
would have sacrificed a mountain or two for the above, and 
would have pitched Mangerton into the Ir.ke for the sake of a 
friend with whom to enjoy the rest of the landscape. 

The walk through Mr. Herbert's demesne carries you, | 
through all sorts of beautiful avenues, by a fine house which 
he is building in the Elizabethan style, and from which, as 
from the whole road, you command the most wonderful rich 
views of the lake. The shore breaks into little bays, which 
the water washes ; here and there are picturesque gray rocks 
to meet it, the bright grass as often, or the shrubs of every 
kind which bathe their roots in the lake. It was August, and 
the men before Turk Cottage were cutting a second crop of 
clover, as fine, seemingly, as the first crop elsewhere : a short 
walk from it brought us to a neat lodge, whence issued a keeper 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 3^5 

with a key, quite willing, for the consideration of sixpence, to 
conckict us to Turk waterfall. 

Kvergreens and other trees, in their brightest livery ; blue 
sky ; roaring water, here black, and yonder foaming of a daz- 
zling white ; rocks shining in the dark places, or frowning 
black against the light, all the leaves and branches keeping up 
a perpetual waving and dancing round about the cascade : what 
is the use of putting down all this ? A man might describe the 
cataract of the Serpentine in exactly the same terms, and the 
reader be no wiser. Suffice it to say, that the Turk cascade is 
even handsomer than the before-mentioned waterfall of O'Sul- 
livan, and that a man may pass half an hour there, and look, 
and listen, and muse, and not even feel the want of a com- 
panion, or so much as think of the iced champagne. There 
is just enough of savageness in the Turk cascade to make the 
Vx^"^ piquante. It is not, at this season at least, by any means 
fierce, only wild ; nor wai»^ the scene peopled by any of the 
rude, red-shanked figures that clustered about the trees of 
O'Sullivan's waterfall, — savages won't pay sixpence for the 
prettiest waterfall ever seen — so that this only was for the best 
of company. 

The road hence to Killarney caries one through Muckross 
village, a pretty cluster of houses, where the sketcher will find 
abundant materials f6r exercising his art and puzzling his 
hand. There are not only noble trees, but a green common 
and an old water-gate to a river, lined on either side by beds 
of rushes and discharging itself beneath an old mill-wheel. 
But the old mill-wheel was perfectly idle, like most men and 
mill-wheels in this country : by it is a ruinous house, and a 
fine garden of stinging-nettles : opposite it, on the common, is 
another ruinous house, with another garden containing the 
same plant ; and far away are sharp ridges of purple hills, 
which make as pretty a landscape as the eye can see. I don't 
know how it is, but throughout the country' the men and the 
landscapes seem to be the same, and one and the other seem 
ragged, ruined, and cheerful. 

Having been employed all day (making some abominable 
hjittempts at landscape-drawin^^^^, which shall not be exhibitec/ 
lere), it became requisite, as the evening approached, to recruit 
m exhausted cockney stomach — which, after a very modera:e 
portion of exercise, begins to sigh for beef-steaks in the most 
peremptory manner. Hard by is a fine hotel with a fine sign 
stretching along the road for the space of a dozen windows at 
east, and looking inviting enough. All the doors were open, 



39^ 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



m 



and I walked into a great number of rooms, but the only person 
I saw was a woman with trinkets o[ arbutus, who offered me, by_^ 
way of refreshment, a walking-stick or a card-rack. I suppose, 
everybody was at t!ie races; and an evilly-disposed person 
might have laid main-basse upon the great-coats which were 
there, and the silver-spoons, if by any miracle such things were 
kept — but Britannia metal is the favorite composition in Ire- 
land ; or else iron by itself ; or else iron that has been silvered 
over, but that takes good care to peep out at all the corners of 
the forks : and blessed is the traveller who has not other ob- 
servations to make regarding his fork, besides the mere abra- 
sion of the silver. 

This was the last day's race, and on the next morning 
TSunda}'), all the thousands who had crowded to the race 
seemed trooping to tlie chapels, and the streets were blue with 
cloaks. Walking in to prayers, and without his board, came 
my young friend of tlie thimble-rig, and presently after sauntered 
in the fellow with the long coat, who had played at cards for 
sovereigns. I should like to hear the confession of himself 
and friend the next time they communicate with his reverence. 

The extent of this town is very curious, and I should imagine 
its population to be much greater than five thousand, whicli 
was the number, according to Miss Macgillicuddy. Along the 
three main streets are numerous arches, down every one of 
which runs an alley, intersected by other alleys, and swarming 
with people. A stream or gutter runs commonly down these 
alleys, in which the pigs and children are seen paddling ?ibout. 
The men and women loll at their doors or windows, to enjoy 
the detestable prospect. 1 saw two pigs under a fresh-made 
deal staircase in one of the main streets near the Bridewell : 
two very well-dressed girls, with their hair in ringlets, were 
looking out of the parlor-window : almost all the glass in the 
upper rooms was of course smashed, the windows patched here 
and there (if the people were careful), the wood-work of the 
door loose, the whitewash peeling off, — and the house evidently 
not two years old. 

By the Bridewell is a busy potato-market, picturesque to 
tlie sketcher, if not very respectable to the merchant : here 
\vere the country carts and the country cloaks, and the shrill 
beggarly bargains going on — a world of shrieking and gesticu- 
lating, and talk, about a pennyworth of potatoes. 

All round the town miserable streets of cabins are stretched. 
You see people lolling at each door, women staring and com- 
bing their hair, men witii their little pipes, ciiildren whose rags 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK'. 3(^7 

liang on by a miracle, idling in a gutter. Are we to set all this 
down to absenteeism.,and pity poor injured Ireland ? Is the land- 
lord's absence the reason why the house is filtny, and Biddy lolls 
in the porch all day ? Upon my word, I have heard people talk 
as if, when Pat's thatch was blown off, the landlord ought to ro 
fetch the straw and the ladder, and mend it himself. People 
need not be dirty if they are ever so idle ; if they are ever \:o 
poor, pigs and men need not live together. Half an hour's 
work, and digging a trench, might remove that filthy dunghill 
from that filthy window. The smoke might as well come oi:t of 
the chimney as out of the door. Why should not Tim do thai, 
instead of walking a hundred-and-sixty miles to a race ? The 
priests might do much more to effect these reforms than even the 
landlords themselves : and I hope now that the excellent Father 
Mathew has succeeded in arraying his clergy to work with liim 
in the abolition of drunkenness, they will attack the monster 
Dirt, with the same good-will, and surely with the same suc- 
cess. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

TRALEE LISTOWEL TARBERT. 



I MADE the journey to Tralee next day, upon one of the 
famous Bianconi cars — very comfortable conveyances too, if 
the booking-offfcers would only receive as many persons as the 
car would hold, and not have too many on the seats. For 
half an hour before the car left Killarney, I observed people 
had taken their seats : and, let all travellers be cautious to do 
likewise, lest, although they have booked their places, they be 
requested to mount on the roof, and accommodate themselves 
on a bandbox, or a pleasant deal trunk with a knotted rope, 
to prevent it from being slippery, while the corner of anothei/ 
box jolts against your ribs for the journey. I had put my cca/ 
on a place, and was stepping to it, when a lovely lady wil/i 
great activity jumped up and pushed the coat on the roof, aud 
not only occupied my seat but insisted that her husband should 
have the next one to her. So there was nothing for it but to 
make a- huge shouting with the book-keeper and call instantly 
for the taking down of my luggage, and vow my great gods 
that I would take a post-chaise and make the office pay : on 



398 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

which, I am ashamed to say, some other person was made to 
give up a decently comfortable seat on the roof, which 1 occu- 
pied, the former occupant hanging on — heaven knows where 
or how. 

A company of. young squires were on the coach, and they 
talked of horse-racing and hunting punctually for three hours, 
during which time I do believe they did not utter one single 
word upon any other subject. What a wonderful faculty it is !] 
The writers of Natural Histories, in describing the noble] 
horse, should say he is made not only to run, to carry burdens, 
&c., but to be talked about. What would hundreds of thou- 
sands of dashing young fellows do with their tongues, if they 
had not this blessed subject to discourse on ? 

As far as the country went, there was here, to be sure, not 
much to be said. You pass through a sad-looking, bare, un- 
dulating country, with few trees, and poor stone-hedges, and 
poorer crops ; nor have I 3^et taken in Ireland so dull a ride. 
About half way between Tralee and Killarney is a wretched 
town, where horses are changed, and where I saw more hideous 
beggary than anywhere else, I think. And 1 was glad to get 
over this gloomy tract of country, and enter the capital of 
Kerry. 

It has a handsome description in the guide-books ; but, if I 
mistake not, the English traveller will find a stay of a couple 
of hours in the town quite sufficient to gratify his curiosity with 
respect to the place. There seems to be a great deal of poor 
business going on ; the town thronged with people as usual ; 
the shops large and not too splendid. There are two or three 
rows of respectable houses, and a mall, and the townspeople 
have the further privilege of walking in the neighboring grounds 
of a handsome park, which the proprietor has liberally given 
to their use. Tralee has a newspaper, and boasts of a couple 
of clubs : the one I saw was a big white house, no windows 
broken, and looking comfortable. But the most curious sight 
of the town was the chapel, with the festival held there. It 
was the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin, (let those who 
are acquainted with the calendar and the facts it commemorates 
say what the feast was, and when it falls,) and all the country 
seemed to be present on the occasion : the chapel and the 
lai"ge court leading to it were thronged with worshippers, such 
as one never sees in our country, where devotion is by no 
means so crowded as here. Here, in the court-yard, there 
were thousands of them on their knees, rosary in hand, for the 
most part praying, and mumbling, and casting a wistful look 



'IJIE IK ISII SKETCH I^OOK 



399 



round as the strangers passed. In a corner was an old man 
groaning in the agonies of death or colic, and a woman got of[ 
her knees to ask us for charity for the unhappy old fellow. In 
the chapel the crowd was enormous : the priest and his people, 
were kneeling, and bowing, and humming, and chanting, and 
censor-rattling ; the ghostly crew being attended by a fellow 
that I don't remember to have seen in continental churches, a 
sort of Catholic clerk, a black shadow to the parson, bowing 
his head when his reverence bowed, kneeling when he knelt, 
only three steps lower. 

But we who wonder at copes and candlesticks, see nothing 
strange in surplices and beadles. A Turk, doubtless, would 
sneer equally at each, and have you to understand that the 
only reasonable ceremonial was that which took place at his 
mosque. 

Whether right or wrong in point of ceremony, it was evi- 
dent the heart of devotion was there : the immense dense crowd 
moaned and suayed, and you ixcard a hum of all sorts of wild 
ejaculations, each man praying seemingly for himself, while the 
service went on at the altar. The altar candles flickered red 
in the dark, steaming place, and every now and then from the 
choir you heard a sweet female voice chanting Mozart's music, 
which swept over the heads of the people a great deal more 
pure and delicious than the best incense that ever smoked out 
of pot. 

On the chapel floor, just at the entry, lay several people 
moaning, and tossing, and telling their beads. Behind the old 
woman was a font of holy water, up to which little children 
were clambering ; and in the chapel-yard were several old 
women, with tin cans full of the same sacred fluid, with which 
the people, as they entered, aspersed themselves with all their 
might, flicking a great quantity into their faces, and making a 
curtsey and a prayer at the same time. " A pretty prayer, 
truly ! " says the parson's wife. " What sad, sad, benighted 
superstition ! " says the Independent minister's lady. Ah ! 
ladies, great as your intelligence is, yet think, when compared 
with the Supreme One, what a little difference there is after all 
between your husbands' very best extempore oration and the 
poor Popish creatures' ! One is just as far off Infinite Wisdom 
as the other : and so let us read the story of the woman and 
her pot of ointment, that most noble and charming of histories ; 
which equalizes the great and the small, the wise and the poor 
in spirit, and shows that their merit before heaven lies in doing 
their best. 



4Po 



'rilE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 



When I came out of the chapel, the old fellow on the point 
of death was still howling and groaning in so vehement a man- 
ner, that I heartily trust he was an impostor, and that on re- 
ceiving a sixijence he went home tolerably comfortable, having 
secured a maintenance for that day. But it will be long before 
I can forget the strange, wild scene, so entirely different was it 
from the decent and comfortable observances of our own 
church. 

Three cars set off together from Tralee to Tarbert : three 
cars full to overflowing. The vehicle before us contained 
nineteen persons, half a dozen being placed in the receptacle 
called the well, and one clinging on as if by a miracle at the 
bar behind. What can people want at Tarbert ? I wondered ; 
or anywhere else, indeed, that they rush about from one town 
to another in this inconceivable way ? All the cars in 
all the towns seem to be thronged : people are perpetually 
hurrying from one dismal tumble-down town to another; and 
yet no business is done anywhere that I can see. The cl)ief 
part of the contents of our three cars was discharged at Lis- 
towel, to which, for the greater part of the journey, the road 
was neither more cheerful nor picturesque than that from 
Killarney to Tralee. As, however, you reach Listowel, the 
county becomes better cultivated, the gentlemen's seats are 
more frequent, and the town itself, as seen from a little dis- 
tance, lies very prettily on a river, which is crossed by a hand- 
some bridge, which leads to a neat-looking square, which contains 
a smartish church, which is flanked by a big Roman Catholic 
chapel, &c. An old castle, gray and ivy-covered, stands hard 
by. It is one of the strongholds of the Lords of Kerry, whose 
burying-place (according to the information of the coachman) 
is seen at about a league from the town. 

But pretty as Listowel is from a distance, it has, on a more 
intimate acquaintance, by no means the jDrosperous appearance 
which a first glance gives it. The place seemed like a scene 
at a country theatre, once smartly painted by the artist ; but 
the paint has cracked in many places, the lines are worn away, 
and the whole piece only looks more shabby for the flaunting 
strokes of the brush which remain. And here, of course, came 
the usual crowd of idlers round the car : the epileptic idiot hold- 
ing piteously out his empty tin snuff-box : the brutal idiot, in an 
old soldier's coat, proffering his money box and grinning and 
clattering the single halfpenny it contained ; the old man with 
no eyelids, calling upon you in the name of the Lord ; the 
woman with a cliild at her hideous, wrinkled breast : the 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOfv. ^oi 

children without number. As for trade, there seemed to be 
none : a great Jeremy-Djddler kind of hotel stood hard by, 
swaggering and out at elbows, and six pretty girls were smiling 
out of a beggarly straw-bonnet shop, dressed as smartly as any 
gentleman's daughters of good estate. It was good, among 
the crowd of bustling, shrieking fellows, who were "jawing" 
vastly and doing nothing, to see how an English bagman, with 
scarce any words, laid hold of an ostler, carried him off vi el 
a?-jnis in the midst of a speech, in which the latter was going 
to explain his immense activity and desire to serve, pushed him 
into a stable, from which he issued in a twinkling, leading the 
ostler and a horse, and had his bag on the car <\nd his horse 
off in about two minutes of time, while the natives were still 
shouting round about other passengers' portmanteaus. 

Some time afterwards, away we rattled on our own journey 
to Tarbert, having a postilion on the leader, and receiving, I 
must say, some graceful bows from the young bonnet-maker- 
esses. But of all the roads over which human bones were 
ever jolted, the first part of this from Listowel to Tarbert de- 
serves the palm. It shook us all into headaches ; it shook 
some nails out of the side of a box I had ; it shook all the cords 
loose in a twinkling, and sent the baggage bumping about the 
passengers' shoulders. The coachman at the call of another 
English bagman, who was a fellow-traveller, — ^the postilion at 
the call of the coachman, descended to re-cord the baggage. 
The English bagman had the whole mass of trunks and bags 
stoutly corded and firmly fixed in a few seconds ; the coach- 
man helped him as far as his means allowed ; the postilion 
stood by with his hands in his pockets, smoking his pipe, and 
never offering to. stir a finger. I said to him that I was de- 
lighted to see in a youth of sixteen that extreme activity and 
willingness to oblige, and that I would give him a handsome 
remuneration for his services at the end of the journey : the 
young rascal grinned with all his might, understanding the 
satiric nature of the address perfectly well ; but he did not take 
his hands out of his pockets for all that, until it was time for 
him to get on his horse again, and then, having carried us over 
the most diiticult part of the journey, removed his horse and 
pipe, and rode away with a parting grin. 

The cabins along the road were not much better than those 
to be seen south of Tralee, but the people were far better 
clothed, and indulged in several places in the luxury of pig- 
sties. Near the prettily situated village of Ballylongford, we 
came in sight of the Shannon mouth ; and a huge red round 

26 



402 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 



moon, that shone behind an old convent on the banks of the 
bright river, with dull green meadows between it and us, and 
white purple flats beyond, would be a good subject for the pen- 
cil of any artist whose wTist had not been put out of joint by 
the previous ten miles' journey. 

The town of Tarbert, in the guide-books and topographical 
dictionaries, flourishes considerably. You read of its port, its 
corn and provision stores, &c., and of certain good hotels ; for 
which as travellers w'e were looking with a laudable anxiety. 
The town, in fact, contains about a dozen of houses, some hun- 
dreds of cabins, and two hotels ; to one of which we were 
driven, and a kind landlady, conducting her half-dozen guests 
into a snug parlor, was for our ordering refreshment imme- 
diately, — which I certainly should h ive done, but for the omin- 
ous whisper of a fellow in the crow'd as we descended (of 
course a disinterested patron of the other house), who hissed 
into my ears, "^j-/^ }o sc. the ^^^j-.- " which proposal, accord- 
ingly, 1 made before coming to any determination regarding 
supper. 

The w^orthy landlady eluded my questions several times 
with great skill and good-humor, but it became at length neces- 
sary to answer it ; which she did by putting on as confident an 
air as possible, and leading the way up stairs to a bedroom, 
where there was a good large comfortable bed certainly. 

The only objection to the bed, however, was that it con- 
tained a sick lady, whom the hostess proposed to eject without 
any ceremony, saying that she was a great deal better, and 
going to get up that very evening. However, none of us had 
the heart to tyrannize over lovely woman in so painful a situ- 
ation, and the hostess had the grief of seeing four out of her 
five guests repair across the way to " Brallaghan's " or " Galla- 
gher's Hotel," — the name has fled from my memory, but it is 
the big hotel in the place ; and unless the sick lady has quit- 
ted the other inn, which most likely she has done by this time, 
the English traveller will profit by this advice, and on arrival 
at Tarbert will have himself transported to " Gallagher's " at 
once. 

The next morning a car carried us to Tarbert Point, where 
there is a pier not yet completed, and a Preventive station, and 
where the Shannon steamers touch, that ply between Kilrush 
and Limerick. Here lay the famous river before us, with low 
banks and rich pastures on either side. 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



40,5 



CHAPTER XIV. 

LIMERICK. 

A CAPITAL Steamer, which on this day was thronged with 
people, carried us for about four hours down the noble stream 
and landed us at Limerick quay. The character of the land- 
scape on either side the stream is not particularly picturesque, 
but large, liberal, and prosperous. Gentle sweeps of rich 
meadows and corn-fields cover the banks, and some, though not 
too man}', gentlemen's parks and plantations rise here and 
there. But the landscape was somehow more pleasing than if 
it had been merely picturesque ; and, especially after coming 
out of that desolate county of Kerry, it was pleasant for the 
eye to rest upon this peaceful, rich, and generous scene. The 
first aspect of Limerick is very smart and pleasing : fine neat 
quays with considerable liveliness and bustle, a very handsome 
bridge (the Wellesley Bridge) before the spectator ; who, after 
a walk through two long and flourishing streets, stops at length 
at one of the best inns in Ireland — the large, neat, and pros- 
perous one kept by Mr. Cruise. Except at Youghal, and the 
poor fellow whom the I^nglishman belabored at Glengariff, Mr. 
Cruise is the only landlord of an inn I have had the honor to 
see in Ireland. I believe these gentlemen commonly (and very 
naturally) prefer riding with the hounds, or manly sports, to 
attendance on their guests ; and the landladies, if they prefer 
to play the piano, or to have a game of cards in the parlor, 
only show a taste at which no one can wonder : for who can 
expect a lady to be troubling herself with vulgar chance- 
customers, or looking after Molly in the bedroom or waiter 
Tim in the cellar ? 

Now beyond this piece of information regarding the excel- 
ience of Mr. Cruise's hotel, which every traveller knows, the 
writer of this doubts very much whether he has anything to say 
about Limerick that is worth the trouble of saying or reading. 
I can't attempt to describe the Shannon, only to say that on 
board the steamboat there was a piper and a bugler, a hundred 
of genteel persons coming back from donkey-riding and bath- 



^o4 '^^^^ misii SKETCH book: 

ing at Kilkee, a couple of heaps of raw hides that smelt very 
foully, a score of women nursing ciiildren, and a lobster-vendor, 
who vowed to me upon his honor that he gave eightpence 
apiece for his fish, and that he had boiled them only the day 
before ; but when I produced the Guide-book, and solemnly 
told him to sv/ear upon that to the trutli of his statement, \Vx\ 
lobster-seller turned away quite abashed, and would not be 
brought to support his previous assertion at all. Well, this is 
no description of the Shannon, as you have no need to be told, 
and other travelling cockneys will no doubt meet neither piper 
nor lobster-seller, nor raw hides ; nor, if they come to the inn 
where this is written, is it probable that they will hear, as I do 
this present moment, two fellows with red whiskers, and im- 
mense pomp and noise and blustering with the waiter, conclude 
by ordering a pint of ale between them. All that one can hope 
to do is, to give a sort of notion of the movement and manners 
of the ]Deople ; pretending by no means to offer a description 
of ]/acjs, but simply an. account of what one sees in them. 

Lo that if any traveller after staying two days in Limerick 
should think fit to present the reader with forty or fifty pages 
of dissertation upon the antiquities and history of the place, 
upon the state of commerce, religion, education, the public may 
be pretty w^ell sure that the traveller has been at work among 
the guide-books, and filching extracts from the topographical 
and local works. 

They say there are three towns to make one Limerick : there 
is the Irish Town on the Clare side ; the English Town with its 
old castle (which has sustained a deal of battering and blows 
from Danes, from fierce Irish Kings, from English w^arriors who 
took an interest in the place, Henry Secundians, Elizabethans, 
Cromwellians, and, vice versa, Jacobites, King Williamites, — 
and nearly escaped being in the hands of the Robert Emmett- 
ites) ; and finally the district called Newtown-Pery. In walk- 
ing through this latter tract, you are at first led to believe that 
you are arrived in a second Liverpool, so tall are the ware-, 
houses and broad the quays ; so neat and trim a street of near 
a mile which stretches before you. But even this mile-long' 
street does not, in a few minutes, appear to be so wealthy and 
prosperous as it shows at first glance ; for of the population 
that throng the streets, two-fifths are barefooted women, and i 
two-fifths more ragged men : and the most part of the shops] 
which have a grand show with them appear, when looked into, j 
to be no better than they should be, being empty makeshift- ' 
looking places with their best goods outside. 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 405 

Here, in thishaiiclsome street too, is a liandsome club-house, 
svith plenty of idlers, you may be sure, lolling at the portico ; 
ikewise you see numerous young officers, with very tight waists 
and absurd brass shell-epaulettes to their little absurd frock- 
:oats, walking the pavement — the dandies of the street. Then 
you behold whole troops of pear, apple, and plum-women, sell- 
ing very raw, green looking fruit, which, indeed, it is a wpnder 
that any one should eat and live. The houses are bright red — 
the street is full and gay, carriages and cars in plenty go jing- 
ling by — dragoons in red are every now and then clattering up 
the street, and as upon every car which passes with ladies in it 
you are sure (I don't know how it is) to see a pretty one, the 
great street of Limerick is altogether a very brilliant and ani- 
mated sight. 

If the ladies of the place are pretty, indeed the vulgar are 
scarcely less so. I never saw a greater number of kind, pleas- 
ing, clever-looking faces among any set of people. There seem, 
however, to be two sorts of physiognomies which are common : 
the pleasing and somewhat melancholy one before mentioned, 
and a square, high-cheeked, flat-nosed physio.2;nomy, not un- 
commonly accompanied by a hideous staring head of dry red 
hair. Except, however, in the latter case, the -hair flowing 
loose and long is a pretty characteristic of the women of the 
country : many a fair one do you see at the door of the cabin, 
or the poor shop in the town, combing complacently that 
"greatest ornament of female beauty," as Mr. Rowland justly 
calls it. 

The generality of the women here seem also much better 
clothed than in Kerry ; and I saw many a one going barefoot, 
whose gown was nevertheless a good one, and whose cloak was 
of fine cloth. Likewise it must be remarked, that the beggars 
in Limerick were by no means so numerous as those in Cork, 
or in many small places through which I have passed. There 
v^^ere but five, strange to say, round the mail-coach as we went 
away ; and, indeed, not a great number in the streets. 

The belles lettres seem to be by no means so well cultivated 
here as in Cork. I looked in vain for a Limerick guide-book : 
I saw but one good shop of books, and a little trumpery cir- 
culating library, which seemed to be provided with those im- 
mortal works of a year old — which, having been sold for half a 
guinea the volume at first, are suddenly found to be worth only 
a shilling. Among these, let me mention, with perfect resigna- 
tion to the decrees of fate, the works of one Titmarsh : they 



4o6 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

were rather smartly bound by an enterprising publisher, and T 
looked at them in Bishop Murphy's Library at Cork, in a book- 
shop in the remote little town of Ennis, and elsewhere, with a 
melancholy tenderness. Poor flowerets of a season ! (and a 
very short season too), let me be allowed to salute your 
scattered leaves with a passing sigh i * * * Besides the 
book-shops, I observed in the long, best street of Limerick a 
half-dozen of what are called P>ench shops, with knicknacks, 
German-silver chimney-ornaments, and paltry finery. In the 
windows of these you saw a card wdth " Cigars ; " in the book- 
shop, " Cigars ; " at the grocer's, the whiskey-shop, " Cigars : " • 
everybody sells the noxious weed, or makes believe to sell it, 
and I know no surer indication of a struggling, uncertain trade 
than that same placard of "Cigars." I went to buy some of the 
pretty Limerick gloves (they are chiefly made, as I have since 
discovered, at Cork). I think the man who sold them had a 
patent from the Queen, or his Excellency, or both, in his win- 
dow : but, seeing a friend pass just as I entered the shop, he 
brushed past, and held his friend in conversation for some min- 
utes in the street, — about the Killarney races no doubt, or the fun 
going on at Kilkee. I might have swept away a bagful of wal- 
nut-shells containing the flimsy gloves \ but instead walked 
out, making him a low bow, and saying I would call the next 
week. He said "wouldn't I wait? " and resumed his conver- 
sation ; and, no doubt, by this way of doing business, is making 
a handsome independence. I asked one of the ten thousand 
fruit-women the price of her green pears. " Twopence apiece," 
she said ; and there were two little ragged beggars standing 
by, who were munching the fruit. A book-shopwoman made 
me pay threepence for a bottle of ink which usually costs a 
penny ; a potato-woman told me that her potatoes cost four- 
teenpence a stone : and all these ladies treated the stranger 
with a leering, wheedling- servility which made me long to box 
their ears, were it not that the man who lays his hand upon a 
woman is an, &c., whom 'twere gross flattery to call a what-d'ye- 
call-'im ? By the way, the man who played Duke Aranza at 
Cork deli^^ered the celebrated claptrap above alluded to as 
follows — 

"The man who lays his hand upon a woman, 
Save in the way of kindness, is a villain, 
Whom 'twere a gross piece of flattery to call a coward ; '' 

and looked round calmly for the applause, which deservedly 
followed his new reading of the passage. 



rflE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 



407 



To reUirn to the apple-women .—legions of Indies were eni- 
)loyed through the town i-jKra tliat traftic , there were leaiiv 
housands of them, clustciuig upon the bridges, squatting down 
n doorways and vacant sheds for temporary markets, marching 
md crying their sour goods in all the crowded lanes of the 
nty. After you get out of the Main Street the handsome part 
>£ the town is at an end, and you suddenly find yourself in such 
I labyrinth of busy swarming poverty and squalid commerce a? 
lever was seen— no, nCt m Saint Giles's, where Jew and Irish 
nan side by side exhibit their genius for dirt. Here every 
louse almost was a half ruin, and swarming with people : in 
he cellars you looked down and saw a barrel of herrings, 
vhich a merchant was dispensing ; or a sack of meai, which a 
DOor dirty woman sold to people poorer and dirtier than her- 
self : above was a tinman, or a shoemaker, or other craftsman, 
lis battered ensign at the door, and his small v/ares peering 
hrough the cracked panes of his shop. As for the ensign, as 
I matter of course the name is never written in letters of the 
;ame size. High and low, in this country, they begin things 
)n too large a scale. They begin churches too big and can't 
inish them ; mills and houses too big, and are ruined before 
hey are done ; letters on sideboards too big, and are up in a 
:orner before the inscription is finished. There is something 
luite strange, really, in this general consistency. 

Well, over James Hurley, or Pat Hanlahan, you will most 
ikely see another board of another tradesman, with a window 
the full as curious. Above Tun Carthy evidently lives 
mother family. There are long-haired girls of fourteen at every 
)ne of the windows, and dirty children everywhere. In ti.e 
:ellars, look at them in dingy white nightc«.ps over a bowl of 
tirabout ; in the shop, paddling up and down the ruined steps, 
)r issuing from beneath the black counter ; up above, see the 
;irl of fourteen is tossing and dandling one of them : and a 
Dretty tender sight it is, in the midst of this filth and wretched- 
less, to see the women and children together. It makes a sun- 
ihine in the dark place, and somehow half reconciles one to ii. 
phildren are everywhere. Look out of the nasty streets into 
he still more nasty back lanes : there they .are, sprawling at 
:very door and court, paddling m every puddle ; and in about 
fair proportion to every six children an old woman — a vei}' 
)ld, blear-e3'ed, ragged v\'oman — who makes believe to :-!.;! 
omething out of a basket, and is perpetually calling upon t'-<f: 
la.me of the Lord. For c^■erv thiee ra^'ecd old women \'' !! 



4o3 THE IRISH SHE TCH BOOK. 

will see two ragp;ed old men, prn\'ing and moaning like the 
females. And tliere is no lack of young men, either, though I 
never could make out v.'h at they were about: they loll about 
the street, chiefly conversing in knots ; and in every street you 
will be pretty sure to see a recruiting-sergeant, with gay ribbons 
in his cap, loitering about with an eye upon the other loiterers 
there. I'he buzz and hum and chattering of this crowd is quite 
inconceivable to us \\\ England, v/liere a crowd is generally 
silent. As a person with a decent coat passes, they stop in 
their talk and say, " God bless you for a fine gentleman ! " In 
these crowded' streets, where all are beggars, the beggary is 
but small : only the very old and hideous venture to ask for a 
penny, otherwise the competition would be too great. 

As for the buildings that one lights upon every now and 
then in the midst of such scenes as this, they are scarce worth 
the trouble to examine : occasionally you come on a chapel 
with sham Gothic windows aixl a little belfry, one of the Gatho- 
lic places of v/orship ; then, placed in some quiet street, a neat- 
looking Dissenting meeting-house. Across the river yonder, 
as you issue out from' the street where the preceding sketch 
u'as ta!:en, is a handsome hospital ; near it the old cathedral, a 
barbarous old turreted edifice — of the fourteenth century it is 
said : how diderent to the sumptuous elegance which charac- 
terizes the Eiiglisli and continental churches of the same period ! 
Passing by it, and vvalking down other streets, — b'ack, ruinous, 
swarmuig, dark, hideous, — you come upon the barracks and the 
walks of the old castle, and from it on to an old bridge, from 
which the view is a fine one. On one side are the gray bastions 
of the castle ; beyond them, in the midst of the broad stream, 
stands a huge mill that looks like another castle ; further yet is 
the handsome nev/ Wellesley Bridge, with some little craft upon 
the river, and the red warehouses of tlie New Town looking 
prosperous enough. The Irish Tov/n stretches away to the 
right; there are preUy villas beyond it ; and on the bridge are 
walking tv;ent3-four young girls, in parties of four and five, 
with their arms round each other's waists, swaying to and fro, 
and singing or chattering, as happy as if they had shoes to their 
feet. Yonder you see a dozen pair of red legs glittering in the 
water, their owners being employed in washing their own or 
other people's rags. 

The Guide-book mentions that one of the aboriginal forests 
of the country is to be seen at a few miles from Limerick, and 
thinking that an aboriginal forest would be a huge discovery, 
and form an instructive and delightful feature of the present 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK: 409 

work, I hired a car in order to visil the same, and pleased my- 
self with visions of gi'i^antic oaks, Druids, Norma, wildernesses 
and awful gloom, which would fill the soul with horror. The 
romance of the place was heightened by a fact stated by the 
carman, viz. : that until late years robberies were very frequent 
about the wood ; the inhabitants of the district being a wild, 
lawless race. Moreover, there are numerous castles round 
about, — and for what can a man wish more than robbers, castles, 
and an aboriginal wood 1 

The way to these wonderful sights lies through the undula- 
ting grounds which border the Shannon ; and though the view 
is. by no means a fine one, I know few that are pleasanter thg^n 
the sight of these rich, golden, peaceful plains, with the full 
harvest waving on them and just ready for the sickhj. The hay 
harvest was likewise just being concluded, and the air loaded 
with the rich odor of the hay. Above the trees, to 3-our left, 
you saw the mast of a ship, perhaps moving along, and every 
now and then caught a glimpse of the Shannon, and the lov/ 
grounds and plantations of the opposite county of Limerick. 
Not an unpleasant addition to the landscape, too, was a sight 
which I do not remember to have witnessed often in this coun- 
try — that of several small and decent farm-houses, with their 
stacks and sheds and stables, giving an air of neatness and 
plenty that the poor cabin with its potato-patch does not pre- 
sent. Is it on account of the small farms that the land seems 
richer and better cultivated here than in most other, parts of 
the country ? Some of- the houses in the midst, of the w^arm 
summer landscape had a strange appearance, for it is often the 
fashion to whitewash the roofs of the houses, leaving the slates 
of the walls of their natural color : hence, and in the evening 
especially, contrasting with'the purple sky, the house-tops often 
looked as if they were covered with snow. 

According to the Guide-book's promise, the castles began 
soon to appear : at one point we could see three of these an- 
cient mansions in a line, each seemingly with its little grove of 
old trees, in the midst of the bare but fert^e country. By this 
time, too, we had got into a road so abominably bad and rocky, 
that I began to believe more and more with regard to the 
splendor of the aboriginal forest, Vv'hich must be most aboriginal 
and ferocious indeed v/hen approached by such a savage path. 
After travelling through a couple of lines of wafl with planta- 
tions on either side, I at length became impatient as to the 
fores.t, and, much to my disappointment, was told tl:is was it. 
For the fact is, that though the forest has always been there, 



^ I o THE IRISH SKE TCII B O OK . 

the trees have not, the proprietors ctitting them regularly when 
grown to no great height, and the monarchs of the woods which 
I saw round about would scarcely have afforded timber for a 
bed-post. Nor did any robbers make their appearance in this 
wilderness : with which disappointment, however, I was more 
willing to put up than with the former one. 

I-]ut if the wood and the robbers did not come up to my ro- 
mantic notions, the old Castle of Bunratty fully answered them, 
and indeed should be made the scene of a romance, in three 
volumes at least. 

'* It is a huge, square tower, with four smaller ones at each i 
angle ; and you mount to the entrance by a steep flight of steps, 
being commanded all the way by the cross-bows of two of 'the : 
Lord De Clare's retainers, the points of whose weapons may ' 
be seen lying upon the ledge of the little narrow mem'irih-e om 
each side of the gate. A venerable seneschal, with the keys of" 
office, presently opens the little back postern, and you are ad- 
mitted to the great hall — a noble chamber, /<?r//// some seventy* 
feet in length and thirty high. 'Tis hung round with a thou- 
sand trophies of war and chase, — the golden helmet and spear 
of the Irish king, the long yellow mantle he v.'ore, and the huge: 
brooch that bound it. Hugo De Clare slew him before the 
castle in 1305, when he and his kernes attacked it. Less suc- 
cessful in 13 14, the gallant Hugo saw his village of Bunratty 
burned round his tow^er by the son of the slaughtered O'Neil ; 
and, sallying out to avenge the insult, was brought back— a 
corpse ! Ah ! what was the pang that shot through the fair 
bosom of the Lady Adela when she knew that 'twas the hand 
of Redmond (^'A^tV/ sped the shaft which slew her s're ! 

" You listen to this sad story, reposing on an oaken settle 
(covered with deer's-skin taken in.th'j aboriginal forest of Car- 
clow hard by) placed at the enormous hall-fire. ,Here sits 
Thonom an Diaoul, 'Dark Thomas,' the blind harper of the 
race of De Clare, who loves to tell the deeds of the lordly 
family. ' Penetrating in disguise,' he continues, ' into the 
castle, Redmond of the golden locks sought an interview with 
the Lily of Bunratty ; but she screamed when she saw him 
under the disguise of the gleeman, and said, " My father's blood 
is in the hall ! " At this, up started fierce Sir Ranulph. " Ho, 
Bludyer ! " he cried to his squire, "call me the hangman and 
Father John ; seize me, vassals, yon villain in gleeman's guise, 
and hang him oTi the gallows on the tov/er ! ' '' ^ 

" ' Will it please ye walk to the roof of the old castle and 
see the beam on which the lords of the place execute the re- 



THE IRISH Sk'i:TCI! BOOK. 41 i 

fractcry ? ' ' Nay, marry,' say you, ' by my spurs ot" knight- 
hood, I have seen hanging enough in merry England, and 
care not to see the gibbets of Irish kernes.' The harper would 
have taken fire at this speech reflecting on his country; but 
luckily here Gulph, your English squire entered from the pant- 
ler (with whom he had been holding a parley), and brought a 
manchet of bread, and bade ye, in the Lord de Clare's name, 
crush a cup of Ypocras, well spiced, pardi, and by the fair 
hands of the Lady Adela. 

" ' The Lady Adela ! " say you, starting up in amaze. ' Is 
not this the year of grace 1600, and lived she not three hun- 
dred years syne ? ' 

'•'Yes, Sir Knight, but Bunratty tower hath anoihcr Lily : 
will it please you see your chamber t ' 

" So saying, the seneschal leads you up a winding stair in 
ow^ of the turrets, past one little dark chamber and another, 
without a fire-place, without rushes (how different from the 
stately houses of Nonsuch or Audley End !), and, leading you 
through another vast chamber above the baronial hall, similar 
in size, but decorated with tapestries and rude carvings, you 
pass the little chapel (• Marry,' says the steward, 'many would 
it not hold, and many do not come ! ') until at last you are 
located in the little cell appropriated to you. Some rude 
attempts have been made to render it fifting for the stranger \ 
but, though more neatly arranged than the hundred other little 
chambers which the castle contains, in sooth 'tis scarce fitted 
for the servino-man, much more for Sir Reo'inald, the Enrilish 
knight. 

" While you are looking at a -bouquet of flov/ers, which lies 
on the settle — magnolias, geraniums, the blue flowers of the 
cactus, and in the midst of the bouquet, one lily ; whilst you 
wonder whose fair hands could have culled the flowers — hark ! 
the horns are blowing at the drawbridge and the warder lets 
the portcullis down. You rush to your window, a stalwart 
knight rides over the gate, the hoofs of his black courser clang- 
ing upon the planks. A host of wild retainers wait round 
about him : sae, four of them carry a stag, that hath been slain 
no doubt in the aboriginal forest of Carclow. ' By my fay ! ' 
say you, ' 'tis a stag of ten.' 

" But who is that yonder on the g-ray palfrey, conversing so 
prettily, and holding the sportive animal with so light a rein } 
— a light green riding-habit and ruff, a little hat with a green 
plume — sure it must be a lady, and a fair one. She looks up. 
O blessed Mother of Heaven, that look ! those eyes that smile, 



4 1 2 THE IK IS 11 Sk'K n V/ IWOJC. 

those Miniiy golden ringlets I It is — 1/ is the Ladv Adela : the 
Lily of Lunrat * ^ * " 

If the reader cannot finish the other two volumes for him 
or herself, he or she never deserves to have a novel from a' 
circulating library again ; for my part, I will take my affidavit 
the English knight will marry the Lily at the end of the third 
volume, having previously slain the other suitor at one of the 
multifarious sieges of Limerick. * And I beg to say that the 
historical part of this romance has been extracted carefully 
from the Guide-book: the topographical and descriptive portion 
being studied on the spot. A policeman shows you over it, , 
halls, chapels, galleries, gibbets and all. The huge old tower 
v»'as, until late years, inhabited by the family of the proprietor,, 
who built himself a house in the midst of it : but he has since 
built another in the park opposite, and half-a-dozen " Peelers," 
v/itli a commodity of wives and children, now inhabit Bunratty. 
On the gate where we entered were numerous placards offering 
rewards for the apprehension of various country offenders ; and 
a turnpike, a bridge, and a quay have sprung up from the place 
which Red Redmond (or anybody else) burned. 



On our road to Galvvay the next day, we w^ere carried once 
more by the old tower, and for a considerable distance along 
the fertile banks of the Fergus lake, and a river which pours 
itself into the Shannon. The first town we come to is Castle 
Clare, which lies conveniently on the river, with a castle, a 
good bridge, and many quays and warehouses, near which a 
small ship or two were lying. The place was once the chief 
town of the county, but is wretched and ruinous now, being 
made up for the most part of miserable thatched cots, round 
which you see the usual dusky population. The drive hence 
to Ennis lies through a country which is by no means so pleas- 
ant as that rich one we have passed through, being succeeded 
"- by that craggy, bleak, pastoral district which occupies so 
large a portion of the limestone district of Clare." Ennis, like- 
wise, stands upon the Fergus — a busy little narrow-streeted, 
foreign-looking town, approached by half a mile of thatched 
cots, in which I am not ashamed to confess that I saw some 
as pretty faces as over any half-mile of country I ever travelled 
in my life. 

A great light of the Catholic Church, who was of late a 
candlestick in cur own communion, was on the coach with us, 



THE IRISH SKE TCH B O OK. 4 1 ^ 

reading devoutly out of a breviary on many occasions along the 
road. A crowd of black coats and heads, with that indescribable 
look which belongs to the Catholic clergy, were evidently on 
the look-out for the coach ; and as it stopped, one of them 
came up to me with a low bow, and asked if I was the Honor- 
able and Reverend Mr. S 'i H.ow I wish i had answered 

him I was ! It would have been a grand scen.e. The respect 
paid to this gentleman's descent is quite absurd : the papers 
bandy his title about with pleased emphasis — the Galway papers 
calls him the very reverend. There is something in the love 
for rank almost childish : witness the adoration of George IV. ; 
the pompous joy with which John Tuam records his correspond- 
ence with a great man ; the continual My-Lording of the 
Bishops, the Right-Honorabling of Mr. O'Connell — which title 
his party papers delight on all occasions to give him — nay, the 
delight of that great man himself when first he attained the 
dignity : he figured in his robes in the most good-humored sim- 
ple delight at having them, and went to church forthwith in 
them ; as if such a man wanted a title before his name. 

At Ennis, as well as everywhere else in Ireland, there were 
of course the regular number of swaggering-looking buckeens 
and shabby genteel idlers to watch the arrival of the mail-coach. 
A poor old idiot, with his gray hair tied up in bows, and with a 
ribbon behind, thrust out a very fair soft hand with taper fin- 
gers, and told me, nodding his head very wistfully, that he had 
no father nor mother : upon which score he got a penny. Nor 
did the other beggars round the carriage who got none seem 
to grudge the poor fellow^'s good fortune. I think when one 
poor wretch has a piece of luck, the others seem glad here : 
and they promise to pray for you just the same if you give as 
if you refuse. 

The town was swarming with people ; the little dark streets, 
which tv/ist about in all directions, being full of cheap merchan- 
dise and its vendors. Whether there are many buyers, I can't 
say. This is written opposite the market-place in Galway, 
where I have watched a stall a hundred times in the course of 
the last three hours and seen no money taken : but at every 
place I come to, I can't help wondering at the numbers ; it 
seems market-day everywhere — apples, pigs, and potatoes be- 
ing sold all over the kingdom. There seems to be some good 
shops in those narrow streets \ among others, a decent little 
librar}', where I bought, for eighteenpence, six volumes of 
works strictly Irish, that will serve for a half-hour's gossip on 
the next rainy day. 



414 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



The road hence to Gort carried us at first by some dismal, 
lonely-looking, reedy lakes, through a melancholy country ; an 
open village standing here and there, with a big chapel in the 
midst of it, almost always unfinished in some point or other. 
Crossing at a bridge near a place called Tubbor, the coachman 
told us we were in the famous county of Gahvay, which all 
readers of novels admire in the \varlike works of Maxwell and 
Le\er; and, dismal as the country had been in Clare, I think 
on the northern side of the, bridge it was dismalier still — the 
stones not only appearing in the character of hedges, but strew- 
ing over whole fields, in which sheep were browsing as well as 
they could. 

We rode for miles through this stony, dismal district, seeing 
more lakes now and anon, with fellows spearing eels in the 
midst. Then we passed the plantations of Lord Gort's Castle 
of Loughcooter, and presently came to the town which bears 
his name, or 7>ice versa. It is a regularly-built little place, with 
a square and street : but it looked as if it \vondered how the 
deuce it got into the midst of such a desolate counry, and 
seemed to bore itself there considerably. It had nothing to do, 
and no society. 

A short time before arriving at Oranmore, one has glimpses 
of the sea, which comes opportunely to relieve the dulness of 
the land. Between Gort and that place we passed through 
little but the most woful country, in the midst of which was a 
village, where a horse-fair was held, and where (upon the word 
of the coachman) all the bad horses of the country were to be 
seen. The man was commissioned, no doubt, to buy for his 
employers, for two or three merchants were on the look-out for 
him, and trotted out their cattle by the side of the coach. A 
very, good, neat-looking, smart-trotting chestnut hcrse, of 
seven years old, was offered by the owner for 8/. ; a neat brown 
mare for lo/., and a better (as I presume) for 14/.; but all 
iookc'd Y&ry respectable, and I have tlie coachman's word for it 
that they were good serviceable horses. Oranmore, with an 
old castle in the midst of the village, woods, and park-planta- 
tions round about, and the bay beyond it, has a pretty and 
romantic look ; and the drive, of about four miles thence to 
Galway, is the most picturesque part perhaps of the fifty miles' 
ride from Limerick. The road is tolerably wooded. You see 
the town itself, with its huge old church-tower, stretching along 
the bay, " backed by hills linking into the long chain of mount- 
ains which stretch across Connemara and the Joyce country." 
A suburb of cots that seems almost endless has, however, an 



J'lIE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 41^ 

end at last among the houses o[ the town ; and a little fleet of 
a couple of hundred fishing-boats was manceuvring in the bright 
waters of the bay. 



CHAPTER XV. 

GALWAY " KILROY'S HOTEL " GALWAY NIGIITS' ENTERTAIN' 

MENTS FIRST NIGHT : AN EVENING WITH CAPTAIN FREENY. 

When it is stated that, throughout the town of Galway, you 
cannot get a cigar which costs more than twopence, Londoners 
may imagine the strangeness and remoteness of the place. 
The rain poured down for two days after our arrival at 
" Kilroy's Hotel." An umbrella under such circumstances is 
a poor resource : self-contemplation is far more amusing ; 
especially smoking, and a game at cards, if any one will be 
so good as to play. 

But there was no one in the hotel coffee-room who v.'as 
inclined for the sport. The company there, on the day of our 
arrival, consisted of two coach-passengers, — a Frenchman who 
came from Sligo, and ordered mutton-chops and fraid potatoes 
for dinner by himself, a turbot which cost two shillings, and in 
Billingsgate would have been worth a guinea, and a couple 
of native or inhabitant bachelors, who frequented the table- 
d'hote. 

By the way, besides these there were at dinner two turkeys 
(so that Mr. Kilroy's two-shilling ordinary was by no means ill 
supplied) ; and, as a stranger, I had the honor of carving these 
animals, which were dispensed in rather a singular way. There 
are, as it is generally known, to two turkeys four wings. Of 
the four passengers, one ate no turkey, one had a pinion, another 
the remaining part of the wing, and the fourth gentleman took 
the other three wings for his share. Does everybody in Galway 
eat three wings when there are two turkeys for dinner ? One 
has heard wonders of the countr)^ — the dashing, daring, duel- 
ling, desperate, rollicking, v/hiskey-drinking people : but this 
wonder beats all. When I asked the Galway turkiphagus 
(there is no other word, for Turkey was invented long after 
Greece) "if he would take a third wing?'' with a peculiar 



4 1 6 THE IR IS /I SA'E 7 'CI! B O OK. 

satiric accent on the words third lohig, which cannot be eX' 
pressed in writing, but winch the occasion fully merited, T 
thought perhaps that, following the custom of the country, 
where everybody, according to Maxwell and Lever, challenges - 
everybody else, — 1 thought the Galwagian would call me out j 
but no such thing. He only said, " If you please, sir," in the 
blankest way in the world ; and gobbled up the limb in a 
twinkling. 

As an encouragement, too, for persons meditating that im- 
portant change of condition, the gentleman w^as a teetotaller-, 
he took but one glass of water to that intolerable deal of bub- 
bi3'jock. Gahvay must be very changed since the days when 
Maxwell and Lever knew it. Three turkey-wings and a glass 
of water ! But the man cannot be the representative of a class, 
that is clear: it is physically and arithmetically impossible. 
They can't all eat three wings of two turkeys at dinner ; the 
turkeys could not stand it, let alone the m.en. These wings 
must have been ''non usitatse (nee tenues) pennas." But no 
more of these flights ; let us come to sober realities. 

The fact is, that when the rain is pouring down in the 
streets the traveller has little else to remark except these pe- 
culiarities of his fellow-travellers and inn-sojourners; and, lest 
one should be led into further personalities, it is best to quit 
that water-drinking gormandizer at once, and retiring to a 
private apartment, to devote one's self to quiet observation and 
the acquisition of knowledge, either by looking out of the win- 
dow and examining mankind, or by perusing books, and so 
living with past heroes and ages. 

As for the knowledge to be had by looking out of window, 
it is this evening not much. A great, wide, blank, bleak, w^afer- 
whipped square lies before the bedroom window ; at the op- 
posite side of which is to be seen the opposition hotel, looking 
even more blank and cheerless than that over which Mr. Kilroy 
presides. Large dismal vv^arehouses and private houses form 
three sides of fhe square ; and in the midst is a bare pleasure- 
ground surrounded ly a growth of gaunt iron-railmgs, the only 
plants seemingly in the place. Three triangular edifices that 
look somewhat like gibbets stand in the paved part of the 
square, but the victims that are consigned to their fate under 
these triangles are only potatoes, which are weighed there ; 
and, in spite of the torrents of rain, a crowd of bare-footed, 
red-petticoated women, and men in gray coats and liower-pot 
hats, are pursuing their little bargains with the utmost calmness. 
Tlia rain seems to make no impression on the males ; nor do 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



4^7 



die women guard against it more than by Hinging a })etticoat 
over tlieir heads, and so stand bargaining and chattering in 
Irish, their figures indefinitely reflec'ed in the shining, varnished 
pavement. Donkeys and pony-carts innumerable stand around, 
similarly reflected ; and in the baskets upon these vehicles you 
see shoals of herrings lying. After a short space this prospect 
becomes somewhat tedious, and one looks to other sources of 
consolation. 

The eighteenpenny worth of little books purchased at Ennis 
in the morning came here most agreeably to my aid ; and in- 
deed they afford many a pleasant hour's readmg. Like the 
*• Bibliotheque Grise," which oi'ws sees in the French cottages 
in the provinces, and the German " Volksbucher," both of 
which contain stores of old legends that are still treasured in 
the country, these yellow-covered books are prepared for the 
people chiefly ; and have been sold for many long years before 
the march of knowledge began to banish Fancy out of the 
world, and gave us, in place of the old fairy tales, Penny Ma- 
gazines and similar wholesome works. Where are the little 
harlequin-backed story-books that used to be read by children 
in England some thirty years ago ? Where such authentic 
narratives as " Captain Bruce's Travels," " The Dreadful 
\dventures of Sawney Bean," &c., which were commonly sup- 
plied to little boys at school by the same old lady who sold 
oranges and alycompayne ? — they are all gone out of the world, 
md replaced by such loooks as "Conversations on Chemistry," 
' The Little Geologist," " Peter Parley's Tales about the Bino- 
mial Theorem," and the like. The world will be a dull world 
some hundreds of years hence, when Fancy shall be dead, and 
ruthless Science (that has no more bowels than a steam-engine) 
has killed her. 

It is a comfort, meanwhile, to come on occasions on some 
of the good old stories and biographies. These books were 
evidently written before the useful had attained its present 
detestable popularity. There is nothing useful lure^ that's 
certain : and a man will be puzzled to extract a precise moral 
put of the "Adventures of Mr. James Freeny ;" or out of the 
legends in the " Hibernian Tales \ " or out of the lamentable 
tragedy of the " Battle of Aughrim," writ in most doleful Anglo- 
Irish verse. But are we to reject all things that have not a 
moral tacked to them ? " Is there an5^ moral shut within the 
bosom of the rose ? " And yet, as the same noble poet sings 
fgiving a smart slap to the utility people the while), "useful 
applications lie in art and nature," and every man may find a 



^i8 THE J A' IS// SKETCH BOOK. 

liOral suited to his mind in them ; or, if not a moral, an occa- 
oion for moraUzing. 

Honest Freeny's adventures (let us begin with histor}^ and 
,-istoric tragedy^ and leave fancy for future consideratioii), if 
they have a moral, have that dubious one which the poet admits 
may be elicited from a ros:^ ; and which every man may select 
according to his mind. And surely this is a far better a^d 
more comfortable system of moralizing than that in the fable- 
books, where you are obliged to accept that^tory with the in- 
evitable moral corollary that will stick close to it. 

Whereas, in Freeny's life, one man may see the evil of 
drinking, another the harm of horse-racing, another the danger 
attendant on early, marriage, a fourth the exceeding inconven- 
ience as well as hazard of the heroic highwayman's life — which 
a certain Ainsworth, in company with a certain Cruikshank, 
has represented as so poetic and brilliant, so prodigal of de- 
lightful adventure, so adorned with champagne, gold-lace, and 
brocade. 

And the best part of worihy Free-ny's tale is the noble 
naivete' and simplicity of the hero as he recounts his own ad- 
ventures, and the utter unconsciousness that he is narrating 
anything wonderful. It is the way of all great men, who recite 
their great actions modestly, as if they were matters of course ; 
as indeed tg them they are. A common tyro, having perpe- 
trated a great deed, would be amazed and flurried at his own 
action ; whereas I make no doubt the Duke of Wellington, after 
a great victory, took his tea and w^ent to bed just as quietly as 
he would after a dull debate in the House of Lords. And so 
with Freeny, — his great and charming characteristic is grave 
simplicity : he does his work ; he knows his danger as well as 
another ; but he goes through his fearful duty quite quietly and 
easily, and not with the least air of bravado, or the smallest 
notion that he is doing anything uncommon. 

It is related of Carter, the Lion-King, that when he was a 
boy, and exceedingly fond of gingerbread-nuts, a relation gave 
him a parcel of those delicious cakes, which the child put in 
his pocket just as he was called on to go into a cage with a 
very large and roaring lion. He had to put his head into the 
forest-monarch's jaws, and leave it therefor a considerable time, 
to the delight of thousands : as is even now the case ; and the 
interest was so much the greater, as the child was exceedingly 
innocent, rosy-cheeked, and pretty. To have seen that little 
flaxen head bitten off by the lion would have been a far more 
pathetic spectacle than that of the decapitation of some gray- 



THE IRISH SKE TCI I BOOK. 4 1 g 

bearded old unromantic keeper, who had served out raw meat 
and stirred up the, animals with a pole any time these twenty 

years : .and the interest rose in consequence. 

While the little darling's head was thus enjawed, what was 
the astonishment of everybody to see him put Iiis hand into his 
little i^ocket, take out a paper- — from the paper a gingerbread- 
nut — pop that gingerbread-nut into the lion's mouth, then into 
his own, and so fmish at least two-pennyworth of nuts ! 

The excitement was delirious : the ladies, when he came 
out of chancery, were for doing what the lion had not done, and 
eating him up — with kisses.. And the only remark the young 
hero made was, '"'Uncle, them nuts w^asn't so crisp as them I 
had t'other day." He never thought of the danger, — he only 
thought of the nuts. 

'^; Thus is it with Freeny. It is fine to mark his bravery, and 
^Ip- see how h.e cracks his simple philosophic nuts in the jaws of 
* innumerable lions. 

At the commencement of the last centur}-, honest Freeny's 
father was house-steward in the family of Joseph Robbins, Esq., 
of Ballyduff ; and, marrying Alice Phelan^ a maid-servant in the 
same family, had issue James, the celebrated Irish hero. At a 
proper age James was put to school ; but being a nimble, active 
lad, and- his father's mistress taking a fancy to him, he was 
presently brought to Ballyduff, where she had a private tutor to 
instruct him during the time which he could spare from his pro- 
, fessional duty, which was that of pantry-boy in Mr. Robbins's 
establishment. At an early age he began to neglect his dut}^ ; 
and although his father, at the excellent Mrs. Robbins's sug- 
gestion, corrected him very severely, the bent of his genius was 
not to be warped by the rod, and he attended "all the little 
country dances, diversions and meetings, and became what is 
called a good dancer ; his own natural inclinations hurrying 
^him " (as he finely says) " into the contrary diversions." 
'^.,''-". He was scarce twenty years old wlien he married (a fright- 
^ful proof of the wicked recklessness of his former courses), and 
set up in trade in. Waterford ; where, however, matters went so 
ill with him, ti^at he was speedily without money, and 50/. in 
debt. He had, he i^ays, not any way of paying the debt, except 
by selling his furniture cr ]:is riding-marc^ to both of which 
measures he was averi^c : for where i ; the gentleman in Ireland 
that can do without a l^orse to ride \ Mr. Freeny and his 
riding-mare became soon famous, insomuch that a thief in jail 
warned the magistrates of Kilkenny to beware of a one-eyed man 
with a mar.\ 



4 2 o THE IRISH SHE TCII B O OK. 

These unhappy circumstances sent him on the highway to 
•:eek a maintenance, and his llrst exploit was to, rob a gentle- 
man of fifty pounds ; then he attacked another, against whom 
lie '"had a secnt disgust^ because this gentleman had prevented 
jiis former master from giving' him a suit of clothes ! " 

Urged by a noble resentment against this gentleman, Mr. 
Freeny, in company with a friend by the name of Reddy, rob- 
l)cd the gentleman's house, taking therein 70/. in money, which 
was honorably divided among the captors. 

''We then," continues Mr. Freeny, " quitted the house wdth 
tlie booty, and came to Thomastown ; but not knowing how to 
dispose of tlie plate, left it with Reddy, who said he had a 
friend from whom he w'ould get cash for it. In some time 
afterwards I asked him for the dividend of the cash he got for 
the plate, but all the satisfaction he gave me was, that it was 
lost, which occasioned me to have my own opinion 0/ him.'' 

Mr. Freeny then robbed Sir William Fownes' servant of 
14/., in such an artful manner that everybody believed the ser- 
vant had himself secreted the money ; and no 'doubt the rascal 
was turned adrift, and star\ed in consequence — a truly comic 
incident," and one that could be used, so as to provoke a great 
deal of laughter, in an historical work of which our chamoion 
should be tlie hero. 

The next enterprise of importance is that against the house 
of Colonel Palliser, which Freeny thus picturesquely describes. 
Coming with one of his spies close up to the house, Mr. 
Freeny watched the Colonel lighted to bed by a servant ; 
and thus, as he cleverly says, could judge " of the room the 
Colonel lay in." 

" Some time afterwards," says Freeny, " 1 observed a light 
upstairs, by which I judged the servants were going to bed 
and soon after observed that the candles were all quenched, b) 
which I assured myself they were all gone to bed. I then 
came back to where the men were, and appointed Bulger, 
Motley, and Commons to go in along with me ; but Commons 
answ^ered that he had never been in any house before where 
there were arms : upon which I asked the coward what busi- 
ness he had there, and swore I would as soon shoot him as to 
loQk at him, and at the same time cocked a pistol to his breast ; 
but the rest of the men prevailed upon me to leave him at the 
back of the house, where he might run away when he thought 
proper. 

'' I then asked Grace wliere did he choose to be posted: 
he answered ' that he would go where I jrleased to order him/ 



Tin: iKisH sKETcn r.ooK. 421 

or which I tijaiikcLi hun. \\\i then iniiiiediately came up to 
he house, lii^htecl our candles, put Houiahan at the I>ack of 
tiie house to prevent any person from coming out that way, 
and placed Hacket on my mare, well armed, at the front ; and 
I then broke one of the windows with a sledge, whereupon 
Lufger, Motley, Grace, and I got in ; upon -which I ordered 
I^.Iotley and Grace to go upstairs, and Bulger and I would stay 
below, where we thought the greatest danger would be ; but I 
immediately, upon second consideration, for fear Motley or 
Grace should be dauiited, desired Bulger to go up with them, 
a.id when he had fixed matters above, to come down, as I 
judged the Golonel lay below. I then w-ent to the room where 
the Colonel was, and burst open the door; upon which' he said, 
' Odds-wounds ! who's there ? ' to which I answered, ' A friend, 
sir ; ' upon which he said, ' You lie ! by G-d, you are no friend 
of mine ! ' I then said that I was, and his relation also, and 
that if he viewed me close he would know me, and begged of 
him not to be angry : upon which I immediately seized a bullet- 
gun and case of pistols, which I observed hanging up in his 
room. I then quitted the room, and walked round the lower 
part of tlie house, thinking to meet some of the servants, 76'/;<^?;/ 
I thought would strive to make their escape from the men who 
were above, and meeting one of them, I immediately returned 
to the Colonel's room ; where I no sooner entered than he de- 
sired me to go out for a villain, and asked why 1 bred such 
disturbance in his house at that time of night. At the same 
time I snatched his breeches from under his head, wherein I 
got a small purse of gold, and said that abuse was not fit treat- 
ment for me who was his relation, and that it would hinder me 
of calling to see him again. I then demanded the key of his 
desk which stood in his room ; he answered he had no key ; 
upon which I said T had a very good key; at the same time 
giving it a stroke with the sledge, which burst it open, wherein 
I got a purse of ninety guineas, a four-pound piece, two moi- 
dores, some small gold, and a large glove v/ith twenty-eight 
guineas in silver. 

" By this time Bulger and Motley came down stairs to me^ 
after rifling the house above. We then observed a closet in- 
side his room, which we soon entered, and got therein a basket 
wherein there was plate to the value of three hundred pounds." 

And so they took leave of Colonel Palliser, and rode away 
with their earnings. 

The story, as here narrated, has that simplicity which is be- 
yond the reach of all except the very highest art ; and it is not 



^,_,. THE fKISH SKETCH BOOK. 

high art certainly which Mr. Froeny can be said to possess, but 
a noble nature rather, which leads him thus grandly to describe 
scenes wherein he acted a great part. With what a gallant de- 
termination does he inform the coward Commons that he would 
sbioot him '-'as soo7i as look at him ; " and how dreadful he must 
Juive looked (with his one eye) as he uttered that sentiment! 
l]ut he left him, he says with a grim humor, at the back of the 
house, " where he might run away when he thought proper.'' 
The Duke of Wellington must have read Mr. Freeny's history 
in his youth (his Grace's birthplace is not far from the scene 
of the other gallant Irishman's exploit), for the Duke acted in 
precisely a similar way by a Belgian Colonel at Waterloo. 

It must be painful to great and successful commanders to 
think how their gallant comrades and lieutenants, partners of 
tJieir toil, their feelings, and their fame, are separated from them 
by time, by death, by estrangement — nay, sometimes by trea- 
son. Commons is off, disappearing noiseless into the deep 
ni;:2;ht, whilst his comrades perform the work of danger ; and 
Bul2^er, — Bulger, who in the above scene acts so gallant a part 
and in whom Mr. Freeny places so much confidence — actually 
went away to England, carrying off " some plate, some shirts, 
a gold watch, and a diamond ring " of the Captain's ; and, 
though he returned to his native country, the valuables did not 
return with him, on which the Captain swore he would blow 
liis brains out. As for poor Grace, he was hanged, much to 
ins leader's sorrow, who says of him that he v^^as " the faithful- 
lest of his spies."' Motley was sent to Naas jail for the very 
robbery : and though Captain Freeny does not mention his 
ultimate fate, 'tis probable he v.as hanged too. Indeed, the 
warrior's life is a hard one, and over misfortunes like these the- 
feeling heart cannot but sigh. 

But, putting out of the question the conduct and fate of the 
Captain's associates, let us look to his own behavior as a 
leader. It is impossible not to admire his serenity, his dex- 
terity, that dashing impetuosity in the moment of the action 
and that aquiline coitj^-d'oiil which belongs to but few generals, 
lie it is vdio leads the assault, smashing in the window with. a 
sledge , he bursts open the Colonel's door, who says (naturally 
enough), "Odds-wounds! who's there?" "A friend, sir," 
says Freeny. " You lie ! by G-d, you are no friend of mine ! " 
roars the military blasphemer. "I then said that i was, arid 
his relation also, and that if he viewed me close he w^ould know 
me, and begged of him not to be angry : upon which I immedi- 
ately seized a brace of pistols which I observed hanging up in his 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 423 

room," That i.s somethiii;; like presence of mind : none of your 
brutal braggadocio work, l^ut neat, wary — nay, sportive bearing 
in die face of danger. And again, on th.e second visit to the 
(Colonel's room, when the latter bids him "go out for a villain, 
aiid not breed a disturbance," what reply makes Freeny ? " At 
ihjsa?m time I snatchsd Jiis breeches from under his head." A 
common man would never have thoughi; of looking for them i:i 
such a place at all. The drmculty about the key lie resolves 
i.i quite an Alexandrian manner; and, from the specimen we 
already have had of the Colonel's style of speaking, we may 
fancy how ferociously l:ie lay in bed and swore, after Captain 
Freeny and his friends had disappeared wdih the ninety guin- 
eas, the mdidores, the four-pound piece, and the glove v.'ith 
twenty-eight guineas in silver. 

As for the plate, he hid it in a wood ; and then, being out 
of danger, he sat down and paid everybody his deserts. By 
the way, what a strange difference of opinion is there about a 
\\\2i\\^ deserts ! Here sits Captain Freeny with a company of 
gentlemen, and awards them a handsome sum of money for an 
action which other people would have remunerated with a hal- 
ter. Which are right ? perhaps botli : but at any rate it v/ill 
be admitted that the Captain takes the humane view of the 
question. 

The greatest enemy Captain Freeny had was Counsellor 
Robbins, a son of his old patron, and one of the most deter- 
mined thief-pursuers the country ever knev/. But though he 
was untiring in his efforts to capture (and of course to hang) 
Mr. Freeny, and though the latter was strongly urged by his 
friends to blow the Counsellor's brains out : yet, to his immor- 
tal honor it is said, he refused that temptation, agreeable as it 
was, declaring that he had eaten too much of that family's 
bread ever to take the life of one of them, and being besides 
quite av^Mre that the Counsellor was only acting against him in 
a public capacity. He respected him, in fact, like an honor- 
able though terrible adversary. 

How deep a stratagem-inventor the Counsellor was, may 
be gathered from the following narration of one of his plans : — • 

"Counsellor Robbins finding his brother had not got intelli- 
gence that was sufficient to carry any reasonable foundation 
for apprehending us, walked out as if merely for exercise, till 
lie met with a person whom he thought he could conlide in, and 
desired the person to meet him at a private place appointed for 
that purpose, which they did ; and he told that person he had 
a very good opinion of him, from the character received froin 



424 'J-^-^^^^- IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

his fatlicr cf \\v:p., aiicl froiii liis ovvo knowlcdg-e of ]nm, and 
Iioped that the person would then show him that such opinion 
was not ill founded, Tiie person assuring- thxC Counsellor he 
would do all in his power to serve and oblige him, the Counsel- 
iDr told him how greatly he was concerned to 'hear the scan- 
dalous character that part of th.c country (which had formerly 
been an honest one) had lately fallen into ; that it was said that 
a gang of robbers v/ho disturbed tlic country lived tliereaboutr. 
Tl^ie person told him he w^as afraid what he said v/as too true ; 
and, on being asked whom he suspected, h,e named tlie same 
four persons Mr. Robbins had, but said he dare not, for fear of 
being murdered, be too inquisitive, and therefore could not say 
anything material. The Counsellor asked him if he knew 
v/here there was any private ale to be sold ; and he said Moll 
Burke, who lived near the end of Mr. Robbins's avenue, had a 
barrel or half a barrel. The Counsellor then gave the person 
a moidore, and desired him to go to Thomastown and buy two 
or three gallons of whisl^^y, and bring ii to Moll Burke's and 
invite as many as he suspected to be either principals or 
accessories to take a drink, and make them drink very heartily, 
and when h.e found the}' were fuddled, and not sooner, to tell 
some of the hastiest that some other had said some bad things 
of them, so as to provoke them to abuse and quarrel with each 
other; and then, probably, in their liquor and passion", they 
might make some discoveries of each other, as may enable the 
Counsellor to ret some one of the .'^an^: to discover and accuse 
the rest. 

'■ Tlie person accordingly got th.e w'hiskey and invited a good 
many to drink ; but the Counsellor being then at his brother's 
a few only went to Moll Burke's, the rest being afraid to ven- 
tu-re while the Counsellor was in the neighborhood : among 
those who met there v.as one Moll Brophy, the wife cf Mr. 
Robbins's smith, and one Edmund or Edward Stapleton, othcr- 
wiie Gaul, v.'ho lived thereabouts ; and when tliey had drank 
plctitifully, the Counsellor's spy told Moll Brophy that Gaul 
had said she had gone astray v;ith some persons or otlicr : S;::e 
then abused Gaul," and told Inm he was one of Freeny's accom- 
plices, for that he, Gaul, had told her he had seen Colonel 
Palliser's watch with Freen3% and that Freeny had told him, 
Gaul, that JoJm Welsh and the two Graces liad been v.-ith him 
at the robber}'. 

"The company on their quarrel brohc up, and the next 
morning the spy met the Counsellor at the place appointed, at 
a distance from Mr. Robbins's house, to prevent suspicion, and 



77//; ih-nui ski:tci[ book: 425 

there told- t!ic Counsellor VvIkU iiUelligence he had got. The 
Counsellor not being then n. justice oi the pence, got his brotlitr 
to send for Moll Lrophy to be examined ; but v.dien she came, 
she refused to be sworn or to give any evidence, and thereupon 
the Counsellor had her tied and put on a car in order to be 
carried to jail on a mittimus froin Mr. Robbins, for refusing to 
give evidence on behalf of the Croun. When she found she 
would really be sent to jail, she submitted to be sworn, and 
the CounLcUor drew from her what she had said the night 
before, and "sometr-ing further, ajid desired her not to tell any- 
body what she had svv'orn." 

But if the Counsellor was acute, were there not others as 
clever as he ? For when, in consequence of the information of 
.Mr^. Brophy, some gentlemen who had been engaged in the 
burglarious enterprises in which IVlr. Freeny obtained so much 
honor were seized and tried, Freeny came forward with the best 
of arguments in their favor. Indeed, it is fine t) see these two 
great spirits matched one against the other, — the Counsellor, 
with all the regular force of the country to back him, — the 
Highway General, with but the wild resources of his gallant 
genius, and with cunning and bravery for his chief allies. 

'' I lay by for a considerable time after, tind concluded 
within myself to do no more mischief till after the assizes, when 
I would hear how it went with the men who were then in con- 
finement. Some time before the assizes Counsellor Robbins 
came to Ballyduff, and told his brother that he believed Ander- 
son and Welsh were guilty, and also said he would endeavor to 
have them both hanged : of which I v;as informed. 

" Soon after, I went to the house of one George Roberts, 
who asked me if I had any regard for those fellows who were 
then confined (meaning Anderson and Welsh). I told him I 
had a regard for one of them: upon which. he said he had a 
friend who was a man of jDower and interest, — that he would 
save either of them, provided I would give him five guineas. I 
told him I would give him ten, and the first gofd watch I could 
get ; W'hereupon he said that it was of no use to speak to his 
friend without the money or value, for that he was a mercenary 
man ; on which I told Roberts I had not so much money at that 
time, but that I would give him my watch as a pledge to give 
his friend. I then gave him my watch, and desired him to 
engage that I would pay the money which I promised to pa;-, 
or give value for it in plate, in two or three nights after; upon 
which he engaged that his friend would act the needful. Then 
we appointed a night to meet, and we accordingly met; and 



426 



THE TRTSH SKE TCI/ E^OOR'. 



-Roberts told me that his friend ac:;reed to save y\nderson apc 
Welsh from the gallows ; whereupon I rave him a plate tankard 
value 10/:, a large ladle, value 4/., with some tablespoons. The 
assizes of Kilkenny, in spring, 1748, coming on soon after^ 
Counsellor Robbins had Welsh transmitted from Naas to Kil 
kennv, in order to give evidence against Anderson and Welsh 
and they Vv'ere tried for Mrs Mounford's robbery, on the evi 
dence of John Welsh and others. The physic working well,; 
six of the jury were for finding them guilty, and six more for 
acquitting them; and the other six finding them peremptory, 
and that they were resolved to starve the others into compli- 
ance, as they say they may do by law, were for their own sakes 
obliged to comply, with them, and they were acquitted. OiT 
v;hich Counsellor Robbins began to smoke the affair, and sus- 
pect the operation of gold dust, which was well applied for my 
comrades, and thereupon left the court in a rage, and swore he 
would forever quit the country, since he found people were 
not satisfied with protecting and saving the rogues they had 
under themselves, but must also show that they could and 
would oblige others to have rogues under them whether they 
would or no." 

Here Counsellor Robbins certainly loses that greatness 
wdiich has distinguished him in his former attack on Freeny ;« 
the Counsellor is defeated and loses his temper. Like Napo- 
leon, he is unequal to reverses : in adverse fortune his presence, 
of mind deserts him. ' 

But what call had he to be in a passion at all ? It may be 
very well for a man to be in a rage because he is disappointed 
of his prey : so is the hawk, when the dove escapes, in a rage ; 
but let us reflect that, had Counsellor Robbins had his will, two 
honest fellows would have been hanged \ and so let us be 
heartily thankful that he was disappointed, and that these men 
were acquitted bv a jury of their countrymen. What right had 
the Counsellor, iorsooth, to interfere with their verdict? Not 
against Irish juries at least does the old satire apply, "And 
culprits hang that jurymen may dine.?" At Kilkenny, on the 
contrary, the jurymen starve in order that the culprits might be 
saved — a noble and humane act of self-denial. 

In another case, stern justice, and the law of self-preserva- 
tion, compelled Mr. Freeny to take a very different course with 
respect to one of his ex-associates. In the former instance we 
have seen him pawning his watch, giving up tankard, table- 
spoons—all, for his suffering friends ; here v/e have his method 
of dealins: with traitors. 



THE IRIS If SKETCH BOO A'. 



4-' 7 



One of liis friends, by the name of Dooling, was taken 
prisoner, and condemned to be hanged, which gave Mr. Preen}', 
he says, "a great shock ; " but presently this Dooling's fears 
were worked upon by some traitors within the jail, and — 

" He then consented to discover ; but I had a friend in jail 
at the same time, one Patrick Healy, who daily insinuated to 
him that it was of no use or advantage to him to discover ai:iy- 
thing, as he received sentence of death ; and that, after he had 
made a discover}*, they would leave him as he was, without 
troubhng themselves about a reprieve. But notwithstanding, 
lie told the gentlemen that there was a inan blind of an eye 70 ho 
had a bay-mare, that lived at the other side of Thomastown 
bridge, whom he assured them would be very troublesome in 
that neighborhood after his death. When Healy discovered 
what he told the gentlemen, he one night took an opportunity 
and made Dooling fuddled, and prevailed upon him to take his 
oath he never would give the least hint about me any more. 
He also told him the penalty that attended infringing upon his 
oath — but more especially as he was at that time near his end 
— which had the desired effect ; for he never mentioned my 
name, nor even anything relative to me," and so went out of 
the world repenting of his meditated treason. 

What further exploits Mr. Freeny performed may be learned 
by the curious .in his liistory : they are all, it need scarcely be 
said, of a similar nature to that noble action which has already 
been described. His escapes from his enemies were marvel- 
lous ; his courage in facing them equally great. He is attacked 
by whole ''armies," through which he makes his way ; wounded, 
he lies in the woods for days together with three bullets in his 
leg, and in this condition manages to escape several " armies '"' 
that have been marched against him. He is supposed to be 
dead, or travelling on the continent, and suddenly makes his 
appearance in his old haunts, advertising his arrival by robbing 
ten men on the highway in a single day. And so terrible is his 
courage, or so popiilar his manners, that he describes scores of 
laborers looking on while his exploits were performed, and 
not affording the least aid to the roadside traveller whom he 
.vanquished. 

But numbers always prevail in the end : what could Leoni- 
das himself do against an army ? The gallant band of brothers 
led by Freeny were so pursued by the indefatigable Robbins 
and his myrmidons, that there was no hope left for them, and 
the Captain saw that he must succumb. 

He reasoned, however, with himself (with his usual keen 



428 THE fRISII SKETCH BOOK. 

logic), ana said : "My ivien must fall, — the world is too strong 
for. us, and to-day, or to-morrow — it matters scarcely when — 
they must yield. They will be hanged for a certainty, and 
thus will disappear the noblest company of knights the world 
has ever seen. 

" But as they will certainly be hanged, and no power of 
mine can save them, is it necessary that 1 should follow them , 
too to the tree? and will James Bulger's fate be a whit more 
agreeable to him, because James Freeny dangles at his side.'*' 
To suppose so, would be to admit that he was actuated by a 
savage feeling of revenge, which I know belongs not to his 
generous nature."' 

In a word, Mr. Freeny resolved to turn king's evidence ;• 
for though he swore (in a communication with the implacable 
Robbins) that he would rather die than betray Bulger, yet 
when the Counsellor stated that he must then die, Freeny 
says, "I promised to submit, and understood that Bulger should 
be sctr 

yVccordingly some days afterwards (although the Captain 
carefully avoids mentioning that he had m.et his friend with 
any such intentions as those indicated in the last paragraph) 
he and Mr, Bulger came together : and, strangely enough, it 
was agreed that the one vvas to sleep while the other kept 
watch , and, while thus employed, the enemy came upon them. 
But let Freeny describe for himself the last passages of his 
history : 

■ "' We then went to Welsh's house, with a view not to make 
any delay there ; but, taking a glass extraordinary after supper, 
Bulger fell asleep. Welsh, in the meantime, told me his house 
was the safest place I could get in that neighborhood, and 
while I remained there I would be very safe, provided that no 
person knew of my coming there (I had not acquainted him 
that Breen knew of my coming that way). I told Welsh that, 
as Bulger was a:leep, I would not go to bed till morning : upon 
which Welsh and I stayed up all night, and in the iT)orning 
Welsh said that he and his wife had a call to Cullen, it being 
market-day. About nine o'clock I went and awoke Bulger, 
desiring him to get up and guard me whilst I slept, as I 
guarded him all night ; he said he would, and then I went to 
bed charging him to watch close, for fear we should be sur- 
prised. I put my blunderbuss and two cases of pistols under 
my head, and soon fell fast asleep. In two hours after the 
servant girl of the house, seeing an enemy coming into the 
yard, ran up .to the room where we werC; and said that there 



771/: IK7SI/ S 77: ''/I ('If r0077. ^2() 

l^i^erc an liuiidreel nica coniiir;- into the yard ; upon wliich Uul- 
^cr immediately awoke nic, and taking u^) my blunderbuss, he 
ired a shot towards the door, which wounded Mr. Bargess, 
Due of the sheriffs of Kilkenny, of which wound he died. They 
:oncluded to set the house on fire about us, which they accord- 
ngly did ; upon which I took my fusee in one hand, and a pis- 
tol in the other, and Bulger did the like, and as \ve came out 
of tlie door, we iired on both sides, imagining it to be the best 
rneth-od of dispersing the enemy, who were on b6th sides of the 
loor. We <:^ot throudi them, but they fired after us, and as 
Bulger was leaping over a ditch he received a shot in the small 
of the leg, which rendered him incapable of running ; but, get- 
ting into a field, where I had the ditch between me and the 
enemy, I still walked slowly with Bulger, till I thought the 
enemy were within shot of the ditch, and then wheeled back to 
the ditch and presented m}'- fusee at them. They all drew 
back and went for their horses to ride round, as the field was 
v/ide and open, and without cover except the ditch. When 
disco\'ered their intention I stood in the middle of the 
field, and one of the gentlemen's servants (there were four- 
teen in number) rode foremost towards me ; upon which I 
told the son of a coward I believed he had no more than iive 
pounds a year from his master, and that I would put him in 
such a condition that his master would not maintain him after- 
wards. To which he answered that he had no view of doing 
us any harm, but that he w^as commanded by his master to ride 
so near us ; and then immediately rode back to the enemy, who 
were coming towards him. They rode almost within shot of 
us, and I observed they intended to surround us in the field, 
and prevent me from having any recourse to the ditch again. 
Bulger was at this time so bad with the wound, that he could 
not go one step without leaning on my shoulder. At length, 
seeing the enemy coming within shot of me, I laid down my 
fusee and stripped off my coat and waistcoat, and running to- 
wards them, cried out, ' You sons of cowards, come on, and I 
will blow your brains out ! ' On which they returned back, and 
then I walked easy to the place where I left my clothes, and 
put them on, and Bulger and I walked leisurely some distance 
further. The enemy came a second time, and I occasioned 
them to draw back as before, and then we walked to Lord 
Dysart's deer-park wall. I got up the wall and helped Bulger 
up. The enemy, who still pursued us, though not within shot, 
i^eeing us on the wall, one of them fired a random shot at us to 
no purpose. We got safe over the v/all, and went from thence 



4 T^o THE IRISH SKF. TCH BOOK. 

inlo my Lord Dysarc's wood, where Bulger said he would re- 
main, tliinkiiig it a safe place ; but 1 told him he would be 
safer anywhere else, for the army of Kilkenny and Callen would 
be soon about the wood, and that he would be taken if he stayed 
there. Besides, as I was very averse to betraying him at all, II' 
could not bear the thoughts of liis being taken in my company, 
bv any party but Lord Carrick's. I then brou;^'ht him about! 
hia.f a mile beyond the W'ood, and left him there in a brake of 
hilars, and looking towards the wood I saw it surrounded by 
\\-\Q. army. Inhere was a cabin near that place where I fixed 
Bul:;cr : he said he would go to it at night, and he would send 
for some of his friends to take care of him. ' It was then almost 
two o'clock, and we were four hours going to that place, which 
was about two miles from Welsh's house. Imagining that there 
were spies fixed on all the fords and by-roads between that 
place and the mountain, I went towards the bounds of the 
county Tipperary, where I arrived about nightfall, and going tcJ 
a cabin, I asked whether there was any drink sold near that; 
place ? The man of the house said there was not ; and as T 
was very much fatigued, I sat down, and there refreshed myself; 
with what the cabin afforded. I then begged of the man to sell 
me a pair of his brogues and stockings, as I was then l)are-! 
footed, which he accordingly did. I quitted the house, went 
through Kinsheenah and Poulacoppal, and having so many' 
thorns in my feet, I was obliged tx) go barefooted, and went to 
Sleedelagh, and through the mountains, till I came within four 
miles of Waterford, and going into a cabin, the man of the 
house took eighteen thorns out of the soles of my feet, and I 
remained in and about that place for some time after. 

" In the mean time a friend of mine was told that it was im- 
possible for me to escape death, for Bulger had turned againsf 
me, and that his friends and Stack were resolved upon my life y, 
but the person who told my friend so, also said, that if my 
friend would set Bulger and Breen, I might get a pardon through 
the Earl of Carrick's means and Counsellor Robbins's interest^ 
My friend said that he 7iuas sure I would not consent to such d 
t/iing, but the best zvay was to do it unkfiozcm to ??ie ; and my friend 
accordingly set Bulger, who was taken by the Earl of Carriclc 
and his party, and Mr. Fitzgerald, and si-x of Counsellor Rob- 
bins's soldiers, and committed to Kilkenny jail. He was three 
days in jail before I heard he was taken, being at that time 
twenty miles distant from the neighborhood ; nor did I hear 
from him or see him since I left him near Lord Dvsart's wood. 



TirK iRfsn SKETCH noofc. 



431 



%l a frUrai \:,-ci\\-\c and told me it \va:^ to ]M"cscrv(} my life and ♦o 

:ullil niv articles that Bnlger v.-as taken.'' 

^ * T«= "" * -;;= -* 

" Finding I was suspected, I withdrew to a neighboring 
/vood and concealed myr.elf there till night, and then went to 
Ballyduff to Mr. Fitzgerald and surrendered myself to liim, till 
[ could write to my Lord Carrick; wjiich I did immediateh', 
md gave him an account of what I escaped, or that I would 
[lavc gone to Ballylynch and surrendered myself there to Inni, 
ind begged his lordship to send a guard for me to conduct rac 
1:0 Iiis house — v.'hich he did, and I remained there for a few 
:lays. 

" Fie then sent me to Kilkenny jail ; and at the summer 
assizes following, James Bulger, Patrick Hackct otherwise 
Bnsteen, Martin x^lillea, John Stack, Felix Donnelly, Edmund 
Kenny, and James Larrasy were tried, convicted, and executed ; 
and at spring assizes following, George Roberts was tried for 
receiving Colonel Palliser's gold watch knowing it to be stolen, 
but was acquitted on account of exceptions taken to my pardon, 
which prevented my giving evidence. At the following assizes, 
wiien I had got a new pardon, Roberts was again tried for 
receiving the tankard, ladle, and silver-spoons from me know- 
ing them to be stolen, and was convicted and executed. At 
the same assizes, John Reddy, my instructor, and Martin 
Millca, were also tried, convicted, and executed." 

And so they were all hanged : James Bulger, Patrick 
Racket or Bnsteen, Martin Millea, John Stack and Felix Don- 
eily, and Edmund Kenny and James Larrasy, with Roberts who 
received the Colonel's watch, the tankard, ladle, and the silver- 
spoons, were all convicted and executed. Their names drop 
naturally into blank verse. It is hard upon poor George 
Roberts too : for the watch he received was no doubt in the. 
very inexpressibles which the CajDtain himself took from the 
Colonel's head. 

As for the Captain himself, he says that, on going out of 
jail, Counsellor Robbins and Lord Carrick proposed a sub- 
scription for him — in which, strangely, the gentlemen of the 
county would not join, and so that scheme came to nothing ; and 
so he published his memoirs in order to get himself a little 
money. Many a man has taken up the pen under similar cir- 
cumstances of necessity. 

.-_. But what became of Captain Freeny afterwards, does not 
appear. Was he an honest man over after ? Was he hanged 
for subsequent misdemeanors ? It matters little to him now ; 



432 



THE TRISII SKEJXH BOOK. 



though, perhaps, one cannot help feeling a little wish that the 
latter fate may have befallen him. 

Whatever his death was, however, the history of his life has 
been one of the most popular books ever known in this coun- 
try. It formed the class-book in those rustic universities which 
are now rapidly disappearing from among the hedges of Ire-- 
land. And lest any English reader should, on account of its^ 
lowness, quarrel with the introduction here of this strange pic- 
ture of wild courage and daring, let him be reconciled by the; 
moral at the end, which, in the persons of Bulger and the rest,, 
hangs at the beam before Kilkenny jail. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

MORE RAIN IN GALWAY A WALK THERE — AND THE SECOND t 

GALWAY night's ENTERTaInMENT. 

•' Sevfn hills has Rome, seven mouths has Nilus' stream, 
Aromid the Pole seven burning planets gleam- 
Twice equal these is Galway, Connaught's Rome : 
Twice seven illustriiius tribes here find theia^ home.* 
Twice seven fair towers llie city's ramparts guard: 
Eacii house within is built of marble hard. 
With lofty turret flanked, twice seven the gates, 
Through twice seven bridges water permeates. 
In the high church are twice seven altars raised, 
At each a lioly saint and patron's praised. 
Twice seven the convents dedicate to heaven, — 
Seven for the female sex — for godly fathers seven." f 

Having read in Hardiman's History the quaint inscription 
in Irish Latin, of which the above lines are a version, and looked^ 

* By the help of an Alexandrine, the names cf these famous families may also be ao 
commodr.ted to verse. 

" Athey, Biake, Bodkin, Browne, Dcanc, Dorsey, Frinche. 
Joyce, Alorech, Skereth, Foute, Kirowan, Martin, Lynche." 

1 If the rude old verses are not very remarkable in quality, in qnaniity they are .still 
more deficient, and take some dire liberties with the laws laid down in the Gradus arid die; 
Grammar : 

" Septem omant monies Romam, septem ostia Nilum, 
Tot rutiiissteilis spJendcc in axe Polus. 
Galvia, Polo Niloc;ue bissequas. Koma Conachtae, 

Bis septem iiiustres has colit ilia tribus. 
Bis urbis septem defendant mcenia turres, 

Intus et en duro est marmorequa;que domus. 
Bis septem ports sunt, castra et culmiua circum, 

Per totidem pontuni permeat unda vias. 
Principe bis septem fulgent altaria templo, 

QuKvis patronas est ara dJcata suo, 
Et septem saciata l^eo coenobia, patrum 
Kccminei el sexus, tot pia tecta tenet." 



TIUl tr/sii skktcii i^ook. 4^3 

admiringly at the old plans of (jahvay wJ-iicli are to be found in 
the same work, 1 was in hopes to have seen in the town some 
considerable remains of its former splendor, in spite of a warn- 
ing to the contrary which the learned historiographer gives. 

The old city certainly has some relics of its former state- 
hness \ and indeed, is the only town in Ireland I have seen, 
where an antiquary can find much subject for study, or a lover 
of the picturesque an occasion for using his pencil. It is a wild, 
fierce, and most original old town. Joyce's Castle in one of 
the principal streets, a huge square gray tower, with, many 
carvings and ornaments, is a gallant relic of its old days of 
prosperit}', and gives one an awful idea of the tenements which 
the other families inhabited, and which are designed in the in- 
teresting plate which Mr. Hardiman gives in his work. The 
Collegiate Church, too, is still extant, without its fourteen altars, 
and looks to be something between a church and a castle, and 
its if it should be served by Templars with sword and helmet in 
place of mitre and crozier. The old houses in the Main Street 
are like fortresses : the windows look into a court within ; there 
is but a small low door, and a few grim windows peering sus- 
piciously into the street. 

Then there is Lombard Street, otherwise called Deadman's 
Lane, with a raw-head and cross-bones and a *' memento mori " 
over the door where the dreadful tragedy of the Lynches was 
acted in 1493. If Galway is the Rome of Connaught, James 
Lynch Fitzstephen, the Mayor, may be considered as the Lucius 
Junius Brutus thereof. Lynch had a son v/ho went to Spain as 
master of one of his father's ships, and being of an extravagant, 
wild turn, there contracted debts, and drew bills, and alarmed 
his father's correspondent, who sent a cierk and nephew of his 
own back in youiig Lynch's ship to Galway to settle accounts. 
On the fifteenth day, young Lynch threw the Spaniard over- 
board. Coming back to his own countr}'', he reformed his life 
a little, and was on the point of marrying one of the Biakes, 
Burkes, Bodkins, or others, when a seaman who had sailed with 
him, being on the point of death, confessed the murder in which 
he had been a participator. 

Hereon the father, who was chief magistrate of the town, 
tried his son, and sentenced him to death ; and when the clan 
Lynch rose in a body to rescue the young man, and avert such 
a disgrace from their famih^, it is said that Fitzstephen Lynch 
hung the culprit with his own hand. A tragedy called " The 
Warden of Galway " has been written on the subject, and was 
acted a few nights before my arrival. 

28 



434 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 




The waters of Lough Corrib, which "perineale " under the 
bridges of the town, go rushing and roaring to the sea with aiii 
noise and eagerness only known in Galway ; and along the 'i 
banks you see all sorts of strange figures washing all sorts oft 
wonderful rags, with red petticoats and redder slianks standing'!; 
in the stream. Pigs are in every street : the whole town shriekss 
with them. There are numbers of idlers on the bridges 
sands in the streets, humming and swarming in and out of 
old ruinous houses ; congregated round numberless apple 
nail-stalls, bottle-stalls, pigsfoot-stalls ; in queer old shops, thatjt 
look to be two centuries old ; loitering about warehouses,^, 
ruined or not ; looking at the washerwomen washing in the.' 
river, or at the fish-donkeys, or at the potato-stalls, or at a ves-j- 
sel coming into the quay, or at the boats putting out to sea. 

The boat at the quay, by the little old gate, is bound forr 
Arranmore ; and one next to it has a freight of passengers fori' 
the cliffs of Mohir on the Clare coast ; and as the sketch is 
taken, a hundred of people have stopped in the street to look 
on, and are buzzing behind in Irish, telling the little boys in 
that language — who will persist in placing themselves exactly 
in the front of the designer — to get out of his way : which they 
do for some time ; but at length curiosity is so intense that you i 
are entirely hemmed in and the view rendered quite invisible. 
A sailor's wife comes up — who speaks English — with a very 
wistful face, and begins to hint that them black pictures ard? 
very bad likenesses, and very dear too for a poor woman, andl 
how much would a painted one cost does his honor think?;? 
And she has her husband that is going to sea to the West In-i- 
dies to-morrow, and she'd give anything to have a picture off 
him. So I made bold to offer to take his likeness for nothing.! 
But he never came, except, one day at dinner, and not at alljl 
on the next day, though I stayed on purpose to accommodate^' 
him. It is true that it was pouring with rain ; and as Engiisln 
waterproof cloaks are not waterproof in Ii-eland^ the traveller 
who has but one coat must of necessity respect it, and had better 
stay where he is, unless he prefers to go to bed while he has|« 
his clothes dried at the next stage. j 

The houses in the fashionable street where the club-housef 
stands (a strong building, with an agreeable Old Bailey look,) ' 
have the appearance of so many little Newgates. The Catholic 
chapels are numerous, unfinished, and ugly. Great warehouses . 
and mills rise up by the stream, or in the midst of unfinished 1 
streets here and there ; and handsome convents wuth their gar- 
dens, justice-houses, barracks, and hospitals adorn the large^, 



TflK Ih'ISfl SKETCH noOK. ^y 

poor, bustling, lough-ancl-ready-louking tow ti. A man who -.ells 
hunting-whips, gunpowder, guns, llshing-tackle, and brass and 
iron ware, has a few books on his counter ; and a lady in a by- 
street, who carries on the profession of a milliner, ekes out her 
stock in a similar way. ijut there were no regular book-shops 
that I saw, and when it came on to rain I iiacl no resource but 
the hedge-school volumes again. They, like I'atrick Spelman'i: 
sign, present some very rude flowers of poetry and "entertain- 
ment " of an exceedn:ig humble sort . but such shelter is not 
^to be despised when no better is to be had : nay, possibly its 
novelty may be piquant to some readers, as an admirer of Shak- 
speare will occasionally condescend to listen to Mr. Punch, or 
^n epicure to content himself with a homely dish of beans and 
bacon. 

When Mr. Kilroy's waiter iias drawn the window-curtains, 
tbrought the hot-water for the whiskey-negus, a pipe and a " screw *' 
of tobacco, and two huge old candlesticks that were plated 
once, the aucience may be said to be assembled, and after a 
little overture performed on the pipe, the second night's enter- 
tainment begins with the historical tragedy of the "Battle of 
Aughrim.'' 

Though it has found its way to the West of Ireland, the 
" Battle of Aughrim '' is evidently by a Protestant author, a 
great enemy of poper}^ and wooden shoes : both of which 
principles incarnate in the person of Saint Ruth, the French 
General commanding the troops sent by Louis XIV. to the aid 
of James II., meet with a woeful downfall at the conclusion of 
the piece. It must have been written in the reign of Queen 
Anne, judging from some loyal compliments which are paid to 
that sovereign in the play ; which is also modelled upon " Cato." 

The " Battle of Aughrim " is written from beginning to end 
in decasyllabic verse oi the richest sort ; and introduces us to 
the chiefs of William's and James's armies. On the English 
side we have Baron Ginkell, three Generals, and two Colonels j 
on the Irish, Monsieur Saint Ruth, tw'o Generals, two Colonels, 
,-and an English gentleman of fortune, a volunteer, and son of 
no less a person than Sir Edmundbury Godfrey. 

There are tv/o ladies — Jemima, the Irish Colonel Talbot's 
daughter, in love with Godfrey ; and Lucinda, lady of Colonel 
Herbert, in love with her lord. And the deep nature of the 
tragedy may be imagined when it is stated that Colonel Talbot 
is killed, Colonel Herbert is killed. Sir Charles Godfrey is 
killed, and Jemima commits suicide, as resolved not to survive 
her adorer. St. Ruth is also killed, and the remaining Irish 



43^' 



77/y; iKLsii skj: /\::i j^ooa 



heroes are taken prisoners or run a\va\'. Among the super 
numeraries there is likewise a dreadful slaughter. 

The author, however, though a Protestant is an Irishmar 
(there are peculiarities in his pronunciation which belong onl^ 
to that nation), and as far as courage goes, he allows the tw( 
parties to be pretty equal. The scene opens with a martia 
sound of kettle-drums and trumpets in the Irish camp, neal 
Athlone. That town is besieged by Ginkell, and Monsieur St 
Ruth (despising his enemy with a c nfidence often fatal t( 
Generals) meditates an attack on the besiegers' lines, if, by anj 
chance, the besieged garrison be not in a condition to drive 
them off. After discoursing on the posture of affairs, and let 
ting General Sarsfield and Colonel O'Neil know his hearty cons 
tempt of the English and their General, all parties, after pro- 
testations of patriotism, indulge in hopes of the downfall of 
William. St. Ruth says he will drive the wolves and lions' 
cubs away. O'Neil declares he scorns the revolution, and, likd 
great Cato, smiles at persecution. Sarsfield longs for the da) 
"when our Monks and Jesuits shall return, and holy incense 
on our altars burn.'' When 



" Enter a Pn^t. 

'• Post. Witli imnortant news I from Atlilcne am sent, 
Be pleased to lead me to the General's tent. 

'• Sars. Behold the Oeneral there. Your message tell. 

" St. Ruth. Declare your message. Are our friends all well ? 

" Post. Pardon me, sir, the fatal news 1 bring 
Like vulture's poison every heart shall sting. 
Athlone is lost witliout your timely aid. 
At six this morning an assault was made, 
When, under shelt-r of the British cannon. 
Their grenadiers in armor took the Shannon, 
Led by bravo Captain Sandys, who iinth fame 
Phmgcdto his rnldd'e in the rapid sireatn. 
He led them through, and with undaunted ire 
He gained the bank in spite of all our fire ; 
Being.bravely followed by his grenadiers 
Tiiough bullets flew like hail about their ears, 
And by this time they enter uncontrolled. 

" St. Ruth. Dare all the force of England be so bold, 
T' attemj-it to storm so brave a town, when I 
With all Hibernia's sons of war am nigh? 
Return : and if the Britons dare pursue, 
Tell them St, Ruth is near, and that will do. 

" Post. Your aid would do much better than your name. 

" Si. Ruth. Bear back this answer, friend, from wlience vou came. 

[Exit Post." 

The picture of brave Sandys, "who with fame plunged to 
his middle in the rapid strame," is not a bad image on the part 
of the Post ; and St. Ruth's reply, " Tell them St. Ruth is near^ 
and that will do,^' characteristic of the vanity of his nation. But 
Sarsfield knows Britons better, and pays a merited compliment 
to their valor : 



437 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

" Sars. Send speedy succors and their fate prevent. 
You know not yet widt IJritons dare attempt. 
I know the Knglisli fortitude is sucli; 
To boast of nothing, though they hazard much 
No ff>rce on earlh their fury can repel, 
Nor would they lly irom ail the devils in liell." 

Another officer arrives : Athlone is really taken, St. Ruth 
gives orders to retreat to Aiipln-im, and Sarslield, in a ra2:e, 
first challenges him, and then vows l-e will quit the army. " A 
gLam of horror does my vitals davip,'' says the Frenchman (in 
a figure of speech more remarkable for vigor than logic) : " I 
fear I>ord Lucan h is forsook the camp ! " But not so : after a 
momentary indignation, Sarsfield returns to his duty, and ere 
long is reconciled with his vain and vacillating chief. 

And now the love-intrigue begins. Goclfrey enters, and 
states Sir Charles Godfrey is his lawful name : he is an English- 
man, and was on his way to join Ginckle's camp, w^hen Jemima's 
beauty overcame him : he asks Colonel Talbot to bestow on 
him the lady's hand. The Colonel consents, and in Act II., 
on the plain of Aughrim, at 5 o'clock in the morning, Jemima 
enters and proclaims her love. The lovers have an interview, 
which concludes by a mutual confession of attachment, and 
Jemima says, " Here, take my hand. 'Tis true the gift is small, 
but when I can I'll give you heart and all." The lines show 
finely the agitation of the young person. She meant to say, 
Take 7ny hearty but she is longing to be married to him, and 
the Avords slip out as it were unawares, Godfrey cries in rap- 
tures — 

" Thanks to the gods I v.'ho such a present gave : 
Such radiant graces ne'er could man receive {resave) ; 
For who on earth has e'er such transports known? 
What is the Turkish monarch on -his throne, 
Hemmed round ivitk rusty s7vords in pompous state ? 
Amidst his court no joys can be so great. 
Retire with mc, my soul, no longer stay 
In public view ! the General moves this way." 

'Tis, indeed, the General ; who, reconciled with Sarsfield, 
straightw^ay, according to his custom, begins to boast about 
what he will do : 

'' Thrice welcome to my heart, thou best of friends! 
The rock on which our holy faith depends 1 
IVlay this our meeting as a tempest make 
Tlie vast foundations of Britannia shake. 
Tear up their orange plant, and overwhelm 
The strongest bulwarks cf the British realm! 
Then shall the Dutch and Hanoverian f:dl, 
And James :-.hali ride in triumpii to W^hitchali ; 
Then to protect our faith he will maintain 
An inquisition here like thai in Spain. 

'■'■ Sar.".. Most bravely urged, my lord! your skill, I own, 
Would be unparaUclcd—\\7kA you saved Al'hione." 



^,^S THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

— " Had you saved Athlone ! " Sarsfield has him there. 
And the contest of words might have provoked quarrels still; 
more fatal, but alarms are heard : the battle begins, and St. 
Ruth (still confident) goes to meet the enemy, exclaiming, 
"Athlone was sweet, but Aughrim shall be sour." The fury of- 
the Irish is redoubled on hearing of Talbot's heroic death: the 
Colonel's corpse is presently brought in, and to it enters Je- 
mima, who bewails her loss in the following pathetic terms : — 

" Jemimci. Oh ! — he is dead ! — my soul is all on fire. ; 

Witness ye gods I — he did with f^rnc expire. 
For Li oerty a sacrifice was made, 

And fill, like Poinpev. by some villain^ s blade. ' 

There lies a breath, ess corse, whose soul ne'er knew 
A thought but \vi\cit was always just and true ; 
Look down from heaven, God ( f peace and love, 
V/aft him v/ith triuinph to the throne above ; 
And, O ye winged guardians cf the skits I 
Tune your sweet harps and sing his obsequies! 

Good friends, stand off whil'st I embrace the ground 

Whereon he lies and bathe each mortal wound 

With brinish tear.^, that like to torrents run 
From these sad eyes. O heavens ! I'm undone. 

[^Falls down on the body. 

*'' E flier Sir Charles Goufrev. H,: raises /ur. 

" Sir Char. Why do these precious eyes like fountains flow, 
^ " To dro-aiu the radiant heaven that lies bclozi) '' 

Dry up your tears, I trust his soul ere this 
Has reached the mansions cf eternal bliss. 
Soldiers ! bear hence the body out of sight. 

[ Fhey bear him off, 

" Jem. Oh, stay — ye inurdercrs, cease to kill me quite ; 

See how Jie glares ! and see again he flies! 

The c'oud; fly open, and he mounts the skies. 
Oh ! see his blood, it siiines refulgent bright, '\ 

1 see him yet 1 cannot lose him quite, > 

r.ut still pursue him ou — and — lose my si^^ht." ) 

The gradual disappearance of the Colonel's soul is now finely 
indicated, and so is her grief : when showing the body to Sir 
Charles, she says, " Piehold the mangled cause of all my woes." 
The sorrow of youth, however, is but transitory ; and when her 
lover bids her dry her gitshis/i tears, she takes out her pocket- 
handkerchief with the elasticity of youth, and consoles herself 
for the father in tlie husband. 

Act III. represents the English camp : Ginckle and his 
Generals discourse ; the armies are engaged. In Act IV. the. 
English are worsted in spite of their valor, which Sarsfield 
greatly describes. '' Viev,'," says he — 

'* View how the ioc Hke an impetuous flood 

Bieaks through the sjnoke, the water, and— the mud! '* 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. ^^^ 

It becomes exceedingly hot. Colonel Earles says — 

" In vain Jove's lightnings issue from the sky, 
For death more sure from Britisli ensigns fly. 
Tlieir messengers of death much blood have spilled, 
And full three hundred of the Irisii killed." 

A description of war (Herbert) : — 

" Now bloody colors wave in all their pride, 
And each proud hero does his beast bestride. 

General Dorrington's description of the fight is, if possible, 
till more noble : 

•' Dor. Haste, noble friends, and save your lives by flight, 
For 'tis but madness if you stand to fight. 
Our cavalry the battle have forsook, 
And death appears in each dejected look ; 
Nothing but dread confusion can be seen. 
For severed heads and trunks o'erspread the green ; 
The fields, the vales, the hills, and vanquished plain, 
For five miles round are covered with the slain. 
Death in each quartei- does the eye alarm, 
Here lies a leg, and there a shattered arm. 
There heads appear, which, cloven by mighty bangs, 
And severed quite, on either shoulder hangs : 
This is the awful scene, my lords. Oh, fly 
Tlie impending danger, for your fate is nigh." 

Which party, however, is to win — the Irish or English ? 
"heir heroism^ is equal, and young Godfrey especially, on the 
rish side, is c'arrying all before him — when he is interrupted in 
he slaughter by the ghost of his father : of old Sir Edmundbury, 
/hose monument we may see in Westminster Abbey. Sir 
Charles, at first, doubts about the genuineness of this venerable 
Id apparition ; and thus puts a case to the ghost : — 

" Were ghosts in heaven, in heaven they there would stay 
Or if in hell, they could not get awayJ" 

\. clincher, certainly, as one would imagine ; but the ghost 
umps over the horns of the fancied dilemma, by saying that 
le is not at liberty to state where he comes from. 

*' Ghost. Where visions rest, or souls imprisoned dwell, 
By heaven's command, we are forbid to tell ; 
But in the obscure grave — where corpse decay. 
Moulder in dust and putrefy away,— 
No rest is there ; for the immortal soul 
Takes its full flight and flutters round the Pole ; 
Sometimes I hover over the Euxine sea — 
From Pole to Sphere, until the judgment day- 
Over the Thracian Bosphorus do I float, 
And pass the Stygian lake in Charon's boat, 
O'er Vulcan's fiery court and sulph'rous cave, 
And ride like Neptune on a briny wave ; 



440 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

Li&t to the blowing noise of Etna's flames, 
And court the shades of Amazonian dames ; 
Then take thy flight xip to the gleamy moon : 
Thus do I wander until the day of doom. 
Proceed I dare not, or I would unfold 
A horrid tale would make your blood run cold, 
Chill all your nerves and smews in a trice 
Like whispering rivulets cony,ealed to ice. 

" Sir Char. Ere you depart me, ghost, I here demand 
You'd let me know your last divine command ! " 

The ghost says that the young man must die in the battle ; thaji 
it will go ill for him if he die in the wrong cause; and, therein 
fore, that he had best go over to the Protestants — which pool 
Sir Charles (not without many sighs for Jemima) consents tci 
do. He goes off then, saying — 

I 

" I'll join my countrymen, and yet proclaim ' 

Nassau's great title to the crimson plain.'''' 

In Act v., that desertion turns the fate of the day. Sars- 
field enters with his sword drawn, and acknowledges his fatej, 
*' Aughrim," exclaims Lord Lucan, 

" Aughrim is now no more, St. Ruth is dead, 
And all his guards are from the battle fled, 
As he rode down the hill he met his fall, 
A nd died a victim to a cannon ball." 

And he bids the Frenchman's body to , 

" lie Hke Pompey in his gore, 

Whose hero's blood encircles the Egyptian shore." 

" Four hundred Irish prisoners we have got," exclaims an Engjf' 
lish General, " and seven thousand lyeth on the spot." Iiir 
fatt, they are entirely discomfited, and retreat off the stage aM 
together ; while, in the moment of victory, poor Sir Charles; 
Godfrey enters, wounded to death, according to the old gentle-' 
man's prophecy. He is racked by bitter remorse : he tells his 
love of his treachery, and declares " no crocodile was ever more 
unjust." His agony increases, the " optic nerves grow dim and 
lose their sight, and all his veins are now exhausted quite ; " 
and he dies in the arms of his Jemima, who stabs herself in the 
usual way. 

And so every one being disposed, of the drums and trumpets: 
give a great peal, the audience huzzas, and the curtain falls onit 
Ginckle and his friends exclaiming — 



' 



'* May all the gods th' au^icious eveaini^ ble 
Who crowns Great gritain's arrums with s 



bless, 
success ! 



T}{E IRISH SKF/rCll HOi)K. 44 1 

And questioning the prosody, what Englishman will not join in 
the sentiment ? 

In the interlude the band (the pipe) performs a favorite air. 
Jack the waiter and candle-snuffer looks to see that all is 
ready ; and after the dire business of the tragedy, comes in to 
sprinkle the stage with water (and perhaps a little whiskey in 
it). Thus all things being arranged, the audience fakes its seat 
again and the afterpiece begins. 

Two of the little yellow volumes purchased at Ennis are 
entitled " The Irish and Hibernian Tales. The former are 
modern, and the latter of an ancient sort ; and so great is the 
superiority of the old stories- over the new, in fancy, dramatic 
interest, and humor, that one can't help fancying Hibernia 
must have been a very superior country to Ireland. 

These Hibernian novels, too, are evidently intended for 
the hedge-school universities. They have the old tricks and 
some of the old plots that one has read in many popular le- 
gends of almost all countries, F.uropean and Eastern : success- 
ful cunning is the great virtue applauded ; and the heroes pass 
through a thousand wild extravagant dangers, such as could 
only have been invented when art was young and faith was 
large. And as the honest old author of the tales says " they 
are suited to the meanest as well as the highest capacity, tend- 
ing both to improve the fancy and enrich the mind," let us con- 
clude the night's entertainment by reading one or two of them; 
and reposing after the doleful tragedy which has been repre- 
sented. The " Black Thief" is worthy of the Arabian Nights, 
I think, — as wild and odd as an Eastern tale. 

It begins, as usual, with a King and Queen w^ho lived once 
on a time in the South of Ireland, and had three sons ; but the 
Queen being on her death-bed, and fancying her husband 
might marry again, and unwilling that her children should be 
under the jurisdiction of any other woman, besought his Maj- 
esty to place them in a tower at her death, and keep them 
there safe until the young Princes should come of age. 

The Queen dies : the King of course marries again, and 
the new Queen, who bears a son too, hates the offspring of 
the former marriage, and looks about for means to destroy 
them. 

" At length the Queen, having got some business with the hen- 
wife, went herself to her, and after a long conference passed, 
was taking leave of her, when the hen-wife prayed that if ever 
she should come back to her again she might break her neck. 



^42 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



* 



The Queen, greatly incensed at such a daring insult from on 
of her meanest subjects, to make such a prayer on her, de 
manded immediately the reason, or she would have her put to 
death. 'It is worth your while, madam,' says the hen-wife, 'to 
pay me well for it, for the reason I prayed so on you concerns 
you much.' ' What must I pay you 'i ' asked the Queen. ' Yoi 
must give me,' says she ' the full of a pack of wool : and I have 
an ancient crock which you must fill with butter ; likewise j 
barrel which you must fill for me full of wheat.' ' How mucl 
wool will it take to the pack ? ' says the Queen. ' It will take 
seven herds of sheep,' said she, 'and their increase for sever 
years.' 'How much butter will it take to fill your . crock ? 
' Seven dairies,' said she, ' and the increase for seven years. - 
' And how much will it take to fill the barrel you have ? ' says 
the Queen. ' It will take the increase of seven barrels of 
wheat for seven years,' ' That is a great quantity,' says the 
Queen, ' but the reason must be extraordinary, and before I \ 
want it I will give you all you demand.' " 

The hen-wife acquaints the Queen with the existence of 
the three sons, and giving her Majesty an enchanted pack of 
cards, bids her to get the young men to play with her with 
these cards, and on their losing, to inflict upon them such a 
task as must infallibly end in their ruin. AH young princes 
are set upon such tasks, and it is a sort of opening of the pan- 
tomime, before the tricks and activity begin. The Queen 
went home, and "got speaking" to the King "in regard o 
his children, and she broke it off to him in a very polite anc 
engaging manner, so that he could see no muster or design h 
it." The King agreed to bring his sons to court, and at night 
when the royal party " began to sport, and play at all kinds o: 
diversions," the Queen cunningly challenged the three Prince; 
to play cards. They lose, and she sends them in consequenc^ 
to bring her back the Knight of the Glen's wild steed of 
bells. 

On their road (as wandering young princes, Indian or Iiish, 
always do) they meet with the Black Thief of Sloan, who tells 
them what they must do. But they are caught in the attempt, 
and brought " into that dismal part of the palace where the 
Knight kept a furnace always boiling, in which he threw all 
offenders that ever came in his way, which in a few minntei ' 
would entirely consume them. ' Audacious villains ! ' says th 
Knight of the Glen, ' how dare you attempt so bold an action 
as to steal my steed ? see now the reward of your folly : for 
your greater punishment, I will not boil you altogether, but one 



i 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



443 



after the other, so that he that survives may witness the dire 
afflictions of his unfortunate companions.' So saying, he or- 
dered his servants to stir up the fire. ' We will boil the eldest- 
looking of these young men first,' says he, * and so on to the 
last, which will be this old champion with the black cap. He 
seems to be the captain, and looks as if he had come through 
many toils,' — ^' I was as near death once as this Prince is yet,' 
says the Black Thief, ' and escaped ; and so will he too.' ' No, 
you never were,' said the Knight, ' for he is within two or three 
minutes of his latter end.' ' But,' says the Black Thief, ' I was 
within one moment of my death, and I am here yet.' ' How 
was that ? ' says the Knight. ' I would be glad to hear it, for 
it seems to be impossible.' ' If you think. Sir Knight,' says 
the Black Thief, ' that the danger I was in surpassed that of 
this young man, will you pardon him his crime ? ' 'I will,' 
says the Knight, ' so go on with your story.' 

" ' I was, sir,' says he, ' a very wild boy in my youth, and 
came through many distresses : once in particular, as I was on 
my rambling, I was benighted, and could find no lodging. At 
length I came to an old kiln, and being much fatigued, I went 
up and lay on the ribs. I had not been long there, when I 
saw three witches coming in with three bags of gold. Each 
put her bag of gold under her head as if to sleep. I heard the 
one say to the other that if the Black Thief came on them 
while they slept he would not leave them a penny. I found by 
their discourse that everybody had got my name into their 
mouth, though I kept silent as death during their discourse. 
At length they fell fast asleep, and then I stole softly down, and 
seeing some turf convenient^ I placed one under each of their 
heads, and off I went with their gold as fast as I could. 

" ' I had not gone far,' continued the Thief of Sloan, 
* until I saw a greyhound, a hare, and a hawk in pursuit of me, 
and began to think it must be the witches that had taken that 
metamorphosis, in order that I might not escape them unseen 
either by land or water. Seeing they did not appear in any 
formidable shape, I was more than once resolved to attack 
them, thinking that with my broadsword I could easily destroy 
them. But considering again that it was perhaps still in their 
power to become so, I gave over the attempt, and climbed with 
difficulty up a tree, bringing my sword in my hand, and all the 
gold along with me. However, when they came to the tree 
they found what I had done, and, making further use of their 
hellish art, one of .them was changed into a smith's anvil, and 
another into a piece of iron, of which the third was soon made 



444 



THE IKLSH SKETCH BOOK. 



a hatchet. Having the hatchet made, she fell to cutting down 
the tree, and in the course of an hour it began to shake with 
me.' " 

This is very good and original. The " boiling " is in the 
first fee-faw-fum style, and the old allusion to " the old cham- 
pion in the black cap " has the real Ogresque humor. Nor is 
that simple contrivance of the honest witches without its charm : 
for if, instead of wasting their time, the one in turning herself 
into an anvil, the other into a piece of iron, and so l^ammering 
out a hatchet at "considerable labor and expense— if either of 
them had turned herself into a hatchet at once, tney might 
have chopped down the Black Thief before cock-crow, when 
they were obliged to fly off and leave him in possession of the 
bags of gold. 

The eldest Prince is ransomed by the Knight of the Glen 
in consequence of this story : and the second Prince escapes 
on account of the merit of a second story ; but the great story 
of all is of course reserved for the youngest Prince. 

" I was one day on my travels," says the Black Thief, 
" and I came into a large forest, where I wandered a long time 
and could not get out of it. At length I came to a large castle, 
and fatigue obliged me to crawl into the same, where I found 
a young woman, and a child sitting on her knee and she crying. 
I asked her what made her cry, and where the lord of the 
castle was, for I wondered greatly that I saw no stir of ser- 
vants or any person about the place. ' It is well for you,' says 
the woman, ' that the lord of this castle is not at home at 
present ; for he is a monstrous giant, with but one eye on 
his forehead, who lives on human flesh. He brought me this 
child,' says she — ' I do not know where he got it — and ordered 
me to make it into a pie, and I cannot help crying at the com- 
mand.' I told her that if she knew of any place convenient 
that I could leave the child safely, I would do it, rather than 
it should be buried in the bowels of such a monster. She told 
of a house a distance off, where I would get a woman who 
would take care of it. ' But what will I do in regard of the pie .'' ' 
' Cut a finger off it,' said I, '•and I will bring you in a young 
wild pig out of the forest, which you may dress as if it was 
the child, and put the finger in a certain place, that if the 
giant doubts anything about it, you ma}^ know where to 
turn it over at first, and when he sees it he will be fully satis- 
fied that it is made of the child.' She agreed to the plan I 
proposed ; and, cutting off the child's finger, by her direction 
I soon had it at the house she told me of and brought her the 



THE riUSH SKETCH BOOK. 



445 



little pig in the place of it. She then made ready the pie ; and, 
after, eating and drinking lieartily myself, I was just taking my 
leave of the young woman when we observed the giant coming 
through the castle-gates. ' Lord bless me ! ' said she, ' what 
will you do now ? run away and lie down among the dead bodies 
that he has in the room ' (showing me the place), * and strip off 
your clothes that he may not know you from the rest if he has 
occasion to go that way.' I took her advice, and laid myself 
down among the rest, as if dead, to see how he would behave. 
The first tiling I heard was him calling for his pie. When she 
set it down before him, he swore it smelt like swine's flesh ; 
but, knowing where to find the finger, she immediately turned 
it up — which fairly convinced him of the contrary. The pie 
only served to sharpen his appetite, and I heard him sharpen 
his knife, and saying he must have a collop or two, for he was 
not near satisfied. But what was my terror when I heard the 
giant groping among the bodies, and, fancying myself, cut the 
half of my hip off, and took it with him to be roasted. You 
may be certain I was in great pain ; but the fear of being 
killed prevented me from making any complaint. However, 
when he had eat all, he began to drink hot liquors in great 
abundance, so that in a short time he could not hold up his 
head, but threw himself on a large creel he had made for the 
purpose, and fell fast asleep. Whe7i ever I heard him snoring, 
bad as I was, I went up and caused the woman to bind my 
wound with a handkerchief ; and taking the giant's spit, I red- 
dened it in the fire, and ran it through the eye, but was not 
able to kill him. However, I left the spit sticking in his head 
and took to my heels ; but I soon found he was in joursuit of 
me, although blind ; and, having an enchanted ring, he threw 
it at me, and it fell on my big toe and remained fastened to it. 
The giant then called to the ring, ' Where it was } ' and to my 
great surprise it made him answer, ' On my foot,' and he, 
guided by the same, made a leap at me — which I had the good 
luck to observe, and fortunately escaped the danger. However, 
I found running was of no use in saving me as long as I had 
the ring on my foot ; so I took my sword and cut off the toe it 
was fastened on, and threw both into a large fish-pond that was 
convenient. The giant called again to the ring, which, by the 
power of enchantment, always made answer ; but he, not know- 
ing what I had done, imagined it was still on some part of me, 
and made a violent leap to seize me — when he went into the 
pond over head and ears and was drowned. Now, Sir Knight," 
said the Thief of Sloan, " you see what dangers I came through 



446 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

and always escaped ; but indeed I am lame for want of my toe 
ever since." 

And now remains but one question to be answered," viz. : 
How is the Black Thief himself to come off ? This difficulty 
is solved in a very dramatic way and with a sudden turn in the 
narrative that is very wild and curious. 

" My lord and master," says an old woman that was listen 
ing all the time, " that story is but too true, as I well know . 
for I am th^ very wo??tafi that was in the ^fia7it's castle^ and you, 
my lord, the child that I was to make into a pic ; and this is the 
very man that saved yoiir life, which you may know by the 
want of your hnger that was taken off, as you have heard, to 
deceive the giant." 

That fantastical way of bearing testimony to the previous 
tale, by producing an old woman who says the tale is not only 
true, but she was the very old woman who lived in the giant's 
castle, is almost a stroke of genius. It is fine to think that the 
simple chronicler found it necessary to have a proof for his 
story, and he was no doubt perfectly contented with the proof 
found. 

" The Knight of the Glen, greatly surprised at what he had 
heard the old woman tell, and knowing he wanted his finger 
from his childhood, began to understand that ^he story was 
true enough. ' And is this my dear deliverer ? ' says he. ' O 
brave fellow, I not only pardon you all, but I will keep you 
with myself while you live ; where you shall feast like princes 
and have every attendance that I have myself.' They all re- 
turned thanks on their knees, and the Black Thief told him the 
reason they attempted to steal the steed of bells, and the 
necessity they were under of going home. ' Well,' says the 
Knight of the Glen, ' if that's the case, I bestow you my steed 
rather than this brave fellow should die : so you may go when 
you please : only remember to call and see me betimes, that 
we may know each other well.' They promised they would, 
and with great joy they set off for the King their father's 
palace, and the Black Thief along with them. The wicked 
Queen was standing all this time on the tower, and hearing the 
bells ringing at a great distance off, knew very well it was the 
Princes coming home, and the steed with them, and through 
spite and vexation precipitated herself from the tower and was 
shattered to pieces. The three Princes lived happy and well 
during their father's reign, always keeping the Black Thief 
along with them ; but how they did after the old King's death 
is not known." 



THE IRISH- SKETCH BOOK. 447 

Then we come upon a story that exists in many a European 
language — of the man cheating Death ; then to the history of 
the Apprentice Thief, who of course cheated his masters : which, 
too, is an old tale, and may have been told very likely among 
those Phcenicians who were the fathers of the Hibernians, for 
whom these tales were devised. A very curious tale is there 
concerning Manus O'Malaghan and the Fairies : — " In the 
parish of Ahoghill lived Manus O'Malaghan. As he was search- 
ing for a calf that had strayed^ he heard many people talking. 
Drawing near, he distinctly heard them repeating, one after 
the other, * Get me a horse, get me a horse ; ' and * Get me a 
horse too,' says Manus. Manus was instantly mounted on a 
steed, surrounded with a vast crowd, who galloped off, taking 
poor Manus with them. In a short time they suddenly stopped 
in a large wide street, asking Manus if he knew where he was ? 
' Faith,' says he, * I do not.' 'You are in Spain^^ said they." 

Here we have again the wild mixture of the positive and 
the fanciful. The chronicler is careful to tell us why Manus 
went out searching for a calf, and this positiveness prodigiously 
increases the reader's wonder at the subsequent events. And 
the question and answer of the mysterious horsemen is fine : 
*' Don't you know where you are 1 In Spain.^"* A vague solu- 
tion, such as one has of occurrences in dreams sometimes. 

The history of Robin the Blacksmith is full of these strange 
flights of poetry. He is followed about " by a little boy in a 
green jacket," who performs the most wondrous feats of the 
blacksmith's art, as follows : — 

" Robin was asked to do something, who wisely shifted it, 
saying he would be very sorry not to give the honor of the first 
trick to his lordship's smith — at which the latter was called 
forth to the bellows. When the fire was well kindled, to the 
great surprise of all present, he blew a great shower of wheat 
out of the fire, which fell through all the shop. They then 
demanded of Robin to try what he could do. ' Pho ! ' said 
Robin, as if he thought nothing of what was done. ' Come,' 
said he to the boy, ' I think I showed you something like that.' 
The boy goes then to the bellows and blew out a great flock of 
pigeons, who soon devoured all the grain and then disap- 
peared. 

" The Dublin smith, sorely vexed that such a boy should 

outdo him, goes a second time to the bellows and blew a fine 

trout out of the hearth, who jumped into a little river that was 

running by the shop-door and was seen no more at that time. 

" Robin then said to the boy, ' Come, you must bring us 



^^8 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

yon trout back again, to let the gentlemen see we can do some- 
thing.' Away the boy goes and blew^ a large otter out of the 
hearth, who immediately leaped into the river and in a short 
time returned with the trout in his mouth, and then disappeared. 
All present allowed that it was a folly to attempt a competition 
any further." 

The boy in the green jacket was one " of a kind of small 
beings called fairies ; " and not a little does it add to the charm 
of these wild tales to feel, as one reads tliem, that the writer 
must have believed in his heart a great deal of what he told. 
You see the tremor as it were, and a wild look of the eyes, as 
the story-teller sits in his nook and recites, and peers wistfully 
round les^ the beings he talks of be really at hand. 

Let us give a couple of the little tales entire. They are not 
so fanciful as those before mentioned, but of the comic sort, 
and suited to the first kind of capacity mentioned by the author 
In his preface. 

gonal!& anb Ijis H^ig^bors. 

" HuDDEN and Dudden and Donald O'Neary were near 
neighbors in the barony of Ballinconlig, and ploughed with 
three bullocks ; but the two former, envying the present pros- 
perity of the latter, determined to kill his bullock to prevent 
his farm being properly cultivated and labored — that, going 
back in the world, he might be induced to sell his lands, which 
they meant to get possession of. Poor Donald, finding his 
bullock killed, immediately skinned it, and throwing the skin 
over his shoulder, with the fleshy side out, set off to the next 
town with it, to dispose of it to the best advantage. Going 
along the road a magpie flew on the top of the hide, and began 
picking it, chattering all the time. This bird had been taught 
to speak and imitate the human voice, and Donald, thinking he 
understood some words it was saying, put round his hand and 
caught hold of it. Having got possession of it, he jDut it 
under his great-coat, and so went on to the town. Having 
sold the hide, he went into an inn to take a dram ; and, fol- 
lowing the landlady into the cellar, he gave the bird a squeeze, 
which caused it to chatter some broken accents that sur- 
prised her very much. ' What is that I hear ? ' said she to 
Donald : ' I think it is talk, and yet I do not understand.' 
' Indeed,' said Donald, ' it is a bird I have that tells me 
everything, and I always carry it with me to know when there 
is any danger. Faith,' says he, ' it says you have far better 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 449 

liquor than you are giving me.' ' That is strange,' said she, 
going to another cask of better quaHty, and asking him if 
he would sell the bird. ' I will,' said Donald, ' if I get enough 
for it.' ' I will fill your hat with silver if you leave it with me.' 
Donald was glad to hear the news, and, taking the silver, set 
off, rejoicing at his good luck. He had not been long home 
when he met with Hudden and Dudden. ' Ha ! ' said he ' you 
thought you did me a bad turn, but you could not have done 
me a better . for look here what I have got for the hide,' show- 
ing them the hatful of silver. ' You never saw such a demand 
for hides in your life as there is at present.' Hudden and Dud- 
den that very night killed their bullocks, and set out the next 
morning to sell their hides. On coming to the place they went 
to all the merchants, but could only get a trifle for them. At 
last they had to take what they could get, and came home in a 
great rage and vowing revenge on poor Donald. He had a 
pretty good guess how matters would turn out, and his bed 
being under the kitchen-window, he was afraid they would rob 
him, or perhaps kill him when he was asleep ; and on that ac- 
count, when he was going to bed, he left his old mothei: in his 
bed, and lay down in her place, which was in the other side of 
the house, and they, taking the old woman for Donald, choked 
her in the bed ; but he making some noise, they had to retreat 
and leave the money behind them, which grieved them very 
much. However, by daybreak, Donald got his mother on his 
back and carried her to town. Stopping at a well, he fixed 
his mother with her staff as if she was stooping for a drink, 
and then went into a public-house convenient and called for a 
dram. * I wish,' said he to a woman that stood near him, you 
would tell my mother to come in. She is at yon well tr}dng to 
get a drink, and she is hard in hearing : if she does not observe 
you give her a little shake, and tell her that I want her.' The 
woman called her several times, but she seemed to take no 
notice : at length she went to her and shook her by the arm ; 
but when she let her go again, she tumbled on her head into 
the well, and, as the woman thought, was drowned. She, in 
great fear and surprise at the accident, told Donald what had 
happened. 'O mercy,' said he, 'what is this.'*' He ran and 
pulled her out of the well, weeping and lamenting all the time, 
and acting in such a manner that you would imagine that he 
had lost his senses. The woman, on the other hand was far 
worse than Donald . for his' grief was only feigned, but she 
imagined herself to be the cause of the old woman's death. 
The mhabitants of the town, hearing what had happened, 

29 



45 o THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

agreed to make Donald up a good sum of money for his loss, 
as the accident happened in their place ; and Donald brought 
a greater sum liome with him than he got for the magpie. 
Thev buried Donald's mother; and as soon as he sawHudden 
aiKJ Dudden, he showed them the last purse of money he had 
got. ' You thought to kill me last night,' said he ; but it was 
good for me it happened on my mother, for I got all that purse 
for her to make gunpowder.' 

" That very night Hudden and Dudden killed their mothers, 
and the next morning set off with them to town. ( n coming 
to the town with their burdens on their backs, they went up 
and down crying, ' Who will buy old wives for gunpowder ? ' so 
that every one laughed at them, and the boys at last clodded 
them out of the place. They then saw the cheat, and vowing 
revenge on Donald, buried the old women and set off in pursuit 
of him. Coming to his house, they found him sitting at his 
breakfast, and seizing him, put him in a sack, and went to 
drown him in a river at some distance. As they w^ere going 
along the highway they r.iised a hare, which they saw had but 
three feet, and throwing off the sack, ran after her, thinking by 
appearance she would be easily taken. In their absence there 
came a drover that way, and hearing Donald singing in the 
sack, wondered greatly what could be the matter. ' What is 
the reason,' said he, ' that you are singing, and you confined ? ' 
' O, I am going to heaven,' said Donald : ' and in a shore time 
I expect to be free from trouble.' 'Oh dear,' said the drover, 
' what will I give )'ou if you let me to 3^our place ? ' ' Indeed I 
do not know,' said he: 'it would take a good sum.' I have 
not much money said the drover; 'but I have twenty head of 
fine cattle, which I will give you to exchange places with me.' 
'Well, well,' says Donald, 'I don't care if I should : loose the 
sack and I will come out.' In a moment the drover liberated 
him, and went into the sack himself : and Donald drove home 
the fine heifers and left them in his pasture. 

" Hudden and Dudden having caught the hare, returned, 
and getting the sack on one of their backs, carried Donald, 
as they thought, to the river, and threw him in, where he im- 
mediately sank. They then marched home, intending to take 
immediate possession of Donald's property ; but how great was 
their surprise, when they found him safe at home before them, 
with such a fine herd of cattle, whereas they knew he had none 
before ? ' Donald,' said they, ' what is all this ! We thought 
vou were drowned, and yet you are here before us ? ' ' Ah ! ' 
said he, ' if I had but help along with me when you threw me 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 451 

n, it would have been the best job ever I met with ; for of all 
he sight of cattle and gold that ever was seen, is there, and no 
)ne to own them ; but I was not able to manage more than you 
iCe, and I could show you the spot where you might get 
lundreds.' They both swore they would be his friends, and 
Donald accordingly led them to a very deep part of the river, 
md lifting up a stone, 'Now,' said he, 'watch this,' throwing 
t into the stream. ' There is the very place, and go in, one of 
'ou first, and if you want help you have nothing to do but call.' 
jiudden jumping in, and sinking to the bottom, rose up again, 
md making a bubbling noise as those do that are drowning, 
,eemed trying to speak but could not. * What is that he is 
■aying now?' says Dudden. 'Faith,' says Donald, he is call- 
ng for help — don't you hear him t Stand about,' continued he 
unning back, ' till I leap in. I know how to do better than any 
)f you.' Dudden, to have the advantage of him, jumped in off 
he bank, and was drowned along with Hudden. And that was 
he end of Hudden and Dudden." 

" A POOR man in the North of Ireland was under the 
lecessity of selling his cow to help to support his family, 
having sold his cow, he went into an inn and called for some 
iquor. Having drunk pretty heartily, he fell asleep, and when 
le awoke he found he had been robbed of his money. Poor 
loger was at a loss to know hoM^ to act ; and, as is often the 
base, when the landlord found that his money was gone, he 
iurned him out of doors. The night was extremely dark, and 
he poor man was compelled to take up his lodging in an old 
minhabited house at the end of the town. 

" Roger had not remained long here until he was surprised 
)y the noise of three men, whom he observed making a hole, 
md, having deposited something therein, closing it carefully up 
igain and then going away. The next morning, as Roger was 
valking towards the town, he heard that a cloth shop had been 
obbed to a great amount, and that a reward of thirty pounds 
:vas offered to any person who could discover the thieves. This 
vas joyful news to Roger, who recollected what he had been 
vitness to the night before. He accordingly went to the shop 
md told the gentleman that for the reward he would recover 
he goods, and secure the robbers, provided he got six stout 
nen to attend him. All which was thankfully granted him. 

" At night Roger and his men concealed themselves in the 



452 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. I 

old house, and in a short time after the robbers came to the.; 
spot for the purpose of removing their booty ; but they were 
instantly seized and carried into the town prisoners, with the 
goods. Roger received the reward and returned home, well, 
satisfied with his good luck. Not many days after, it was] 
noised over the country that this robbery was discovered by 
the help of one of the best Spaemen to be found — insomuch 
that it reached the ears of a worthy gentleman of the county of 
Derry, who made strict inquiry to find him out. Having at 
length discovered his abode, he sent for Roger, and told him 
he was every day losing some valuable article, and as he was 
famed for discovering lost things, if he could find out the same, 
he should be handsomely rewarded. Poor Roger was put to a 
stand, not knowing what answer to make, as he had not the 
smallest knowledge of the like. But recovering himself a httle, 
he resolved to humor the joke ; and, thinking he would make 
a good dinner and some drink of it, told the gentleman he 
would try what he could do, but that he must have a room to 
himself for three hours, during which time he must have three 
bottles of strong ale and his dinner. All which the gentleman 
told him he should have. No sooner was it made known that 
the Spaeman was in the house than the servants were all in con- 
fusion, wishing to know what would be said. 

"As soon as Roger had taken his dinner, he was shown 
into an elegant room, where the gentleman sent him a quart of , 
ale by the butler. No sooner had he set down the ale than - 
Roger said, ' There comes one of them ' (intimating the bar- 
gain he had made with the gentleman for the three quarts), 
which the butler took in a wrong light and imagined it was , 
himself. He went away in great confusion and told his wife. ' 
'Poor fool,' said she, 'the fear makes you think it is you he \ 
means; but I w^ill attend in your place, and hear what he will , 
say to me.' Accordingly she carried the second quart : but no j 
sooner had she opened the door than Roger cried, * There 
comes two of them.' The woman, no less surprised tlian her 
husband, told him the Spaeman knew her too. * And what 
will we do.? ' said he. 'We will be hanged.' ' I will tell you 
what we must do,' said she : ' we must send the groom the 
next time ; and if he is known, we must offer him a good sum 
not to discover on us.' The butler went to William and told , 
him the whole story, and that he must go next to see what the 
Spaeman would say to him, telling him at the same time, what 
to do ni case he was known also. When the hour was expired, 
William was sent with the third quart of ale — \>hich when 



TKK IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 4:; 3 

vOger observed, he cried out, 'There ib the tliird and last of 
lein ! ' At which the groom changed color, and told him 
that if he would not discover on them, they would show him 
/here the goods were all concealed and give him five pounds 
esides.' Roger, not a little surprised at the discovery he had 
lade, told him ' if he recovered the goods, he would follow them 
10 further.' 

''By this time the gentleman called Roger to know how he 
ad succeeded. He told him ' he could find the goods, but 
hat *:he thief w^as gone.' ' I will be well satisfied,' said he., 
with the goods, for some of them are very valuable.' Let the 
)utlet come along with me, and the whole shall be recovered.' 
Roger was accordingly conducted to the back of the stables, 
.vhere the articles w^ere concealed, — such as silver cups, spoons, 
3o\vh, knives, forks, and a variety of other articles of great 
value. 

" When the supposed Spaemen brought back the stolen 
goods the gentleman was so highly pleased with Roger that he 
insistel on his remaining with him always, as he supposed he 
woulc be perfectly safe as long as he was about his house. 
Roge; gladly embraced the offer, and in a few days took pos- 
sessio), of apiece of land which the gentleman had given to him 
in consideration of his great abilities. 

"Sane time after this the gentleman was relating^ to a large, 
compa.-y the discovery Roger had made, and that he could tell 
anythinr. One of the gentlemen said he would dress a dish of 
meat, aid bet fifty pounds that he could not tell what was in it, 
though he would allow him to taste it. The bet being taken 
and tl-e dish dressed, the gentleman .sent for Roger and told 
him tb bet that was depending on him. Poor Roger did not 
know ^hat to do ; but at last lie consented to the trial. The 
dish buig produced, he tasted it, but could not tell what it was. 
At lastseeinghe was fairly beat, he said, ' Gentlemen, it is folly 
to talk . the fox may run a while, but he is caught at last,' — • 
alIow'n< with himself that he w^as found out. The gentleman 
that lac made the bet then confessed that it was a fox he had 
dresed in the dish : at which they all shouted out in favor of 
the Sjaeman, — particularly his master, who had more confidence 
in hin than ever. 

''Roger then v/ent home, and so famous did he become, 
that 10 one dared take anythitig but what belonged to them, 
fearig that the Spaeman would discover on them." 



Ad SQwp shut up the Hedgt^-^school Library, an$l close the 



454 • THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

Gal way Night's Entertainments. They are not quite so geiitee| 
as Ahnack's to be sure ; but many a lady who has her open 
box in London has listened to a piper in Ireland. 

Perhaps the above verses and tales are not unlike my little'j 
Galway musician. They are grotesque and rugged ; but theyl 
are pretty and innocent-hearted too ; and as such, polite persons 
may deign to look at them for once in a way. While we . have 
Signor Costa \\\ a white neck-cloth ordering opera-bands to play 
for us the music of Donizetti, which is not only sublime but 
genteel : of course such poor little operatives as he who plays 
the wind instrument yonder cannot expect to be heard often. 
But is not this Galway.? and how far is Galway from the Hay- 
market ? 



CHATER XVII. 

FROM GALWAY TO BALLINAHINCH. 

The Clifden car, which carries the Dublin letters irto the 
heart of Connemara, conducts the passenger over one of the 
most wild and beautiful districts that it is ever the fortune of a 
traveller to examine ; and I could not help thinking,as we 
passed through it, at how much pains and expense honet Eng- 
lish cockneys are to go and look after natural beauies far 
inferior, in countries which, though more distant, are not a 
whit more strange than this one. No doubt, ere long, when 
people know how easy the task is, the rush of London toirism 
will come this way : and I shall be very happy if these pages 
shall be able to awaken in one bosom beating in TooleyStreet 
or the Temple the desire to travel towards Ireland next ear. 

After leaving the quaint old town behind us, and asoei'ding 
one or two small eminences to the north-westward, the travdler, 
from the car, gets a view of the wide sheet of Lough Ccrrib 
shining in the sun, as we saw it, with its low dark banks strCch- 
ing round it. If the view is gloomy, at least it is characterisic : 
nor are we delayed by it very long ; for though the lake strethes 
northwards into the very midst of the Joyce country, (ad is 
there in the close neighborhood of another huge lake, Lugh 
Mask, which again is near to another sheet of water,) yet rom 



J'HK FRfSH SKETCH BOOK. . 4^5 

this road henceforth, after keeping company with it for some 
live miles, we only get occasional views of it, passing over hills 
and through trees, by many rivers and smaller lakes, which are 
dependent upon that of Corrib. Gentlemen's seats, on the 
road from Galway to Moycullien, are scattered in great profusion. 
Perhaps there is grass growing on the gravel-walk, and the iron 
gates of the tumble-down old lodges are rather rickety _, but, 
for all that, the places look comfortable, hospitable, and 
spacious. As for the shabbiness and want of finish here and 
there, the p]nglish eye grows quite accustomed to it in a month ; 
and I find the bad condition of the Galway houses by no means 
so painful as that of the places near Dublin. At some of the 
lodges, as we pass, the mail-carman, with a warning shout, flings 
a bag of letters. I saw a little party looking at one which lay 
there in the road crying, " Come take me ! " but nobody cares 
to steal a bag of letters in this country, I suppose, and the car- 
man drove on without any alarm. Two days afterwards a 
gentleman with whom I was in company left on a rock his book 
of fishing-flies ; and I can assure you there was a very different 
feeling expressed about the safety of f/mf. 

In the first part of the journey, the neighborhood of the road 
seemed to be as populous as in other parts of the country : 
troops of red-petticoated peasantry peering from their stone- 
cabins ; yelling children fcllowing the car, and crying, " Lash, 
lash ! " It was Sunday, and you would see many a white chapel 
among the green bare plains to the right of the road, the court- 
yard blackened with a swarm of cloaks. The service seems to 
continue (on the part of the people) all day. Troops of people 
issuing from the chapel met us at Moycullen ; and ten miles 
further on, at Oughterard, their devotions did not yet seem to 
be concluded. 

A more beautiful village can scarcely be seen than this. It 
stands upon Lough Corrib, the banks of which are here, for 
once at least, picturesque and romantic : and a pretty river, the 
Feogh, comes rushing over rocks and by woods until it passes 
the town and meets the lake. Some pretty buildings in the 
village stand on each bank of this stream : a Roman Catholic 
chapel with a curate's neat lodge ; a little church on one side 
of it, a fine court-house of gray stone on the other. And here 
It is that we get into the famous district of Connemara, so cele- 
brated in Irish stories, so mysterious to the London tourist. 
''* It presents Itself," says the Guide-book, '' under every possible 
CombinAtion of heathy moor, bog, lake, and mountain. Ex- 



^^ 6 . T//F IRISH SKE TCII BOOK. 

tensive mossy plains and wild pastoral valleys lie embosomed 
among the mountains, and support numerous herds of cattle 
and horses, for which the district has been long celebrated. 
These wild solitudes, which occupy by far the greater part of 
the centre of the country, are held by a hardy and ancient race 
of grazing farmers, who live in a very primitive state, and, 
generally speaking, till little beyond what supplies their imme- 
iate wants. For the first ten miles the country is comparatively 
open ; and the mountains on the left, which are not of great 
elevation, can be distinctly traced as they rise along the edge 
of the heathy plain. 

" Our road continues along the Feogh river, which expands 
itself into several considerable lakes, and at five miles from 
Oughterard We reach Lough Bofin, which the road also skirts. 
Passing in succession Lough-a-Preaghan, the lakes of Anderran 
and Shindella, at ten miles from Oughterard we reach Slyme 
and Lynn's Inn, or Half-way House, which is near the shore of 
Loughonard. Now, as we advance towards the group of Bina- 
bola, or the Tw'elve Pins, the most gigantic scenery is dis- 
played." 

But the best guide-book that ever was written cannot set 
the view before the mind's eye of the reader, and I won't at- 
tempt to pile up big words in place of these wild mountains, 
over which the clouds as they passed, or the sunshine as it 
went and came, cast every variety of tint, light, and shadow ; 
nor can it be expected that long, level sentences, however 
smooth and shining, can be made to pass as representations of 
those calm lakes by wdiich we took our way. All one can do is 
to lay down the pen and ruminate, and cry, " Beautiful ! " once 
more ; and to the reader say, " Come and see ! " 

Wild and wide as the prospect around us is, it has somehow 
a kindly, friendly look ; differing in this from the lierce loneli- 
ness of some similar scenes in Wales that I have viewed. 
Ragged women and children come out of rude stone-huts to 
see the car as it passes. But it is impossible for the pencil to 
give due raggedness to the rags, or to convey a certain pictur- 
esque mellowness of color that the garments assume. The 
sexes, with regard to raiment, do not seem to be particular. 
There were many boys on the road in the national red petti- 
coat, having no other covering for their lean brown legs. As 
for shoes, the women eschew them almost entirely ; and I saw 
a peasant trudging from mass in a handsome scarlet cloak, a 
fine blue-cloth gown, turned up to show a new lining of the 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 457 

same color, and a petticoat quite white and neat — in a dress of 
which the cost must have been at least 10/. ; and her husband 
walked in front carrying her shoes and stockings. 

The road had conducted us for miles through the vast 
property of the gentleman to whose house I was bound, Mr. 
Martin, the Member for the county ; and the last and prettiest 
part of the journey was round the Lake of Ballinahinch, with 
tall mountains rising immediately above us on the right, pleas- 
ant woody hills on the opposite side of the lake, with the roof 
of the houses rising above the trees ; and in an island in the 
midst of the water a ruined old castle cast a long white reflec- 
tion into the blue waters where it lay. A land-pirate used to 
live in that castle, one of the peasants told me, in the time of 
" Oliver Cromwell." And a fine fastness it was for a robber, 
truly : for there was no road through these wild countries in 
his time — nay, only thirty 3^ears since, this lake was at three days' 
distance of Galway. Then comes the question. What, in a coun- 
try where there were no roads and no travellers, and where the 
inhabitants have been wretchedly poor from time immemorial, — 
what was there for the land-pirate to rob ? But let us not be 
too curious about times so early as those of Oliver Cromwell. 
I have heard the name many times from the Irish peasant, who 
still has an awe of the grim, resolute Protector. 

The builder of Ballinahinch House has placed it to com- 
mand a view of a pretty melancholy river that runs by it, 
through many green flats and picturesque rocky grounds ; but 
from the lake it is scarcel}^ visible. And so, in like manner, I 
fear it must remain invisible to the reader too, with all its kind 
inmates, and frank, cordial hospitality ; unless he may take a 
fancy to visit Galway himself, when, as I can vouch, a very 
small pretext will make him enjoy both. 

It will, however, be only a small breach of confidence to 
say that the major-domo of the establishment (who has adopted 
accurately the voice and manner of his master, with a severe 
dignity of his own which is quite original,) ordered me on going 
to bed ''not to move in the morning till he called me," at the 
same time expressing a hearty hope that I should " want noth- 
ing more that evening." Who would dare, after such peremp- 
tory orders, not to fall asleep immediately, and in this way 
disturb the repose of Mr. J — n M-ll-y ? 

There may be many comparisons drawn between English 
and Irish gentlemen's houses ; but perhaps the most striking 
point of difference between the two is the immense following of 



458 THE IRISH Sk'ETCH BOOK. 

the Irish house, such as would make an EngUsh housekeeper 
crazy ahnost. Three comfortable, well-clothed, good-humored 
fellows walked down with me from the car, persisting in carry- 
ing one a bag, another a sketching stool, and so on. Walkmg 
about the premises in the morning, sundry others were visible 
in the court-yard and near the kitchen-door. In the grounds a 
gentleman, by name Mr. Marcus C-rr, began discoursing to me 
regarding the place, the planting, the fish, the grouse, and the 
Master; being himself, doubtless, one of the irregulars of the 
house. As for maids, there were half a score of them skurrying 
about the house \ and I am not ashamed to confess that some 
of them were exceedingly good-looking. And if I might venture 
to say a word more, it would be respecting Connemara break- 
fasts ; but this would be an entire and flagrant breach of confi- 
dence : and, to be sure, the dinners were just as good. 

One of the days of my three days' visit was to be devoted 
to the lakes ; and as a party had been arranged for the second 
day after my arrival, I was glad to take advantage of the society 
of a gentleman staying in the house, and ride with him to the 
neighboring town of Clifden. 

The ride thither from Ballinahinch is surprisingly beautiful ; 
and as you ascend the high ground from the two or three rude 
stone-huts which face the entrance-gates of the house, there are 
views of the lakes and the surrounding country which the best 
parts of Killarney do not surpass, I think; although the Conne- 
mara lakes do not possess the advantage of wood which belongs 
to the famous Kerry landscape. 

But the cultivation of the country is only in its infancy as 
yet, and it is easy to see how vast its resources are, and what 
capital and cultivation may do for it. In the green patches 
among the rocks, and on the mountain-sides, wherever crops 
were grown, they flourished ; plenty of natural wood is spring- 
ing up in various places ; and there is no end to what the 
planter may do, and to what time and care may effect. The 
carriage-road to Clifden is but ten years old ; as it has brought 
the means of communication into the country, the commerce 
will doubtless follow it; and in fact, in going through the whole 
kingdom, one can't but be struck with the idea that not one 
hundredth part of its capabilities are yet brought into action, or 
even known perhaps, and that, by the easy and certain progress 
of time, Ireland will be poor Ireland no longer. 

For instance, we rode by a vast green plain, skirting a lake 
and river, which is now useless almost for pasture, and which 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 455 

I little draining will convert into thousands of acres of rich 
productive land. Streams and falls of water dash by every- 
vhere — they have only to utilize this water-power for mills and 
actories — and hard by are some of the finest bays in the world, 
vhere ships can deliver and receive foreign and home produce. 
\X Roundstone especially, where a little town has been erected, 
he bay is said to be unexampled for size, depth, and shelter ; 
md the Government is now, through the rocks and hills on 
heir wild shore, cutting a coast-road to Bunown, the most 
vesterly part of Connemara, whence there is another good 
oad to Clifden. Among the charges which the " Repealers " 
)ring against the Union, they should include at least this; they 
vould never have had these roads but for the Union : roads 
vhich are as much at the charge of the London tax-payer as 
)f the most ill-used Milesian in Connaught. 

A string of small lakes follow the road to Clifden, with 
nountains on the right of the traveller for the chief part of the 
vay. A few figures at work in the bog-lands, and a red petticoat 
)assing here and there, a goat or two browsing among the 
tones, or a troop of ragged whitey-brown children who came 

gaze at the car, form the chief society on the road. The 
irst house at the entrance to Clifden is a gigantic poor-house 
—tall, large, ugly, comfortable ; it commands the town, and 
ooks almost as big as every one of the houses therein. The 
own itself is but of a few years' date, and seems to thrive in 
ts small way. Clifden Castle is a fine chateau in the neigh- 
)orhood, and belongs to another owner of immense lands in 

alway — Mr. D'Arcy. 

Here a drive was proposed along the coast to Bunown, and 

was glad to see some more of the country, and its character. 

Nothing can be wilder. We passed little lake after lake, lying 

1 .few furlongs inwards from the shore. There were rocks 
everywhere, some patches of cultivated land here and there, 
lor was there any want of inhabitants along this savage coast. 
There were numerous cottages, if cottages they may be called, 
md women, and above all, children in plenty. 

At length we came in sight of a half-built edifice which is 
ipproached by a rocky, dismal, gray road, guarded by two or 
hree broken gates, against which rocks and stones were piled, 
vhich had to be removed to give an entrance to our car. The 
ates were closed so laboriously, I presume, to prevent the 
igress of a single black consumptive pig, far gone in the family- 
vay — a teeming skeleton — that was cropping the thin dry grass 



460 THE IRISH SKE7XH BOOK, 

that grew upon a round hill which rises behind this most dismal 
castle of Bunown. 

If the traveller only seeks for strange sights, this place will 
repay his curiosity. Such a dismal house is not to be seen in 
all England : or, perhaps, such a dismal situation. The sea 
lies before and behind ; and on each side, likewise, are rocks 
and copper-colored meadows, by which a few trees have made 
an attempt to grow. The owner of the house had, however, 
begun to add to it ; and there, unfinished, is a whole apparatus 
of turrets, and staring raw stone and mortar, and fresh ruinous 
carpenters' work. An4 then the court-yard ! — tumbled-down 
out-houses, staring empty pointed windows, and new-smeared 
plaster cracking from the walls — a black heap of turf, a mouldy 
pump, a wretched old coal-skuttle, emptily sunning itself in the 
midst of this cheerful scene ! There was an old Gorgon who 
kept the place, and who was in perfect unison with it : Venus 
herself would become bearded, blear-eyed, and haggard, if left 
to be the housekeeper of this dreary place. 

In the house was a comfortable parlor, inhabited by the 
priest who has the painful charge of the district. Here were 
his books and his breviaries, his reading-desk with the cross 
engraved upon it, and his portrait of Daniel O'Connell the 
Liberator to grace the walls of his lonely cell. There was a 
dead crane hanging at the door on a gaff : his red fish-like eyes 
were staring open, and his eager grinning bill. A rifle-ball had 
passed through his body. And this was doubtless the only 
game about the place ; for we saw the sportsman who had killed 
the bird hunting vainly up the round hill for other food for 
powder. This gentleman had had good sport, he said, shooting 
seals upon a neighboring island, four of which animals he nad 
slain. 

Mounting up the round hill, we had a view .of the Sline 
Lights — the most westerly point in Ireland. 

Here too was a ruined sort of sumiper-house, dedicated 
" Deo Hiberni^ Liberatori." When these lights were put 
up, I am told the proprietor of Bunown was recommended to 
apply for compensation to Parliament, inasmuch as there would 
be no more wrecks on the coast : from which branch of com- 
merce the inhabitants of the district used formerly to derive a 
considerable profit. Between these Sline Lights and America 
nothing lies but the Atlantic. It w^as beautifully blue and 
bright on this day, and the sky almost cloudless ; but I think 
the brightness only made the scene more dismal, it being of 
that order of beauties which caimot bear the full light, but 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



461 



equire a cloud or a curtain to set them off to advantage. A 
)retty story was told nie by the gentleman who had killed the 
eals. The place where he had been staying for sport was 
.Imost as lonely as this Bunown, and inhabited by a priest too 
a young, lively, well-educated man. " When I came here 
irst " the priest said, " / cried for two days ; " but afterwards 
le grew to like the place exceedingly, his whole heart being 
lirected towards it, his chapel, and hi^ cure. Who would not 
lonor such missionaries — the virtues they silently practise, and 
he doctrines they preach ? After hearing that story, I think 
3unown looked not quite so dismal, as it is inhabited, they say, 
3y such anothe*- character. What a pity it is that John Tuam, 
n the next county of Mayo, could not find such another her- 
mitage to learn modesty in, and forget his Graceship, his Lord- 
hip, and the sham titles by which he sets such store. 

A moon as round and bright as any moon that ever shone, 
ind riding in a sky perfectly cloudless, gave us a good promise 
Df a fine day for the morrow, which was to be devoted to the 
lakes in the neighborhood of Ballinahinch : one of which, 
Lough Ina, is said to be of exceeding beauty. But no man can 
speculate upon Irish weather. I have seen a day beginning 
with torrents of rain that looked as if a deluge was at hand, 
clear up in a few minutes, without any reason, and against the 
prognostications of the glass and all other weather-prophets. 
So in like manner, after the astonishingly fine night, there came 
a villanous dark day : which, however, did not set in fairly for 
rain, until we were an hour on our journey, with a couple of 
stout boatmen rowing us over Ballinahinch Lake. Being, 
however, thus fairly started, the water began to come down, 
not in torrents certainly, but in that steady, creeping, insinua- 
ting mist, of which we scarce know the luxury in England ; and 
which, I am bound to say, will wet a man's jacket as satisfac- 
torily as a cataract w^ould do. 

It was just such another day as that of the famous stag- 
hunt at Killarney, in a word ; and as, in the first instance, we 
went to see the deer killed, and saw nothing thereof, so, in the 
second case, we went to see the landscape with precisely the 
same good-fortune. The mountains covered their modest 
beauties in impenetrable veils of clouds; and the only consola- 
tion to the boat's crew was, that it was a remarkably good day 
for trout-lishing — which amusement some people are said to 
prefer to the examination of landscapes, however beautiful. 

O you who laboriously throw flies in English rivers, and 
catch at the expiration of a hard day's walking, casting, and 



462 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

wading, two or three feeble little brown trouts of two or three^ 
ounces in weight, how would you rejoice to have but an hou^'si^ 
sport in Derryclear or Ballinahinch ; where you have but to ' 
cast, and lo ! a big trout springs at your fly, and, after making; 
a vain struggling, splashing, and plunging for a while, is infaU 
libly landed in the net and thence into the boat. The single ; 
rod in the boat caught enough fish in an hour to feast the crew, , 
consisting of five persons, and the family of a herd of Mr.. 
Martin's, who has a pretty cottage on Derryclear Lake, inhab- 
ited by a cow and its calf, a score of fowls, and I don't know 
how many sons and daughters. 

Having caught enough trout to satisfy any moderate appe- 
tite, like true sportsmen the gentlemen on board our boat 
became eager to hook a salmon. Had they hooked a few sah 
mon, no doubt they would have trolled for whales, or for a 
mermaid ; one of which finny beauties the w^aterman swore he 
had seen on the shore of Derryclear — he with Jim Mullen 
being above on a rock, the mermaid on the shore directly 
beneath them, visible to the middle, and as usual " racking her 
hair." It was fair hair, the boatman said ; and he appeared as 
convinced of the existence of the mermaid as he was of the 
trout just landed in the boat. 

In regard of mermaids, there is a gentleman living near 
Killala Bay, whose name was mentioned to me, and who de- 
clares solemnly that one day, shooting on the sands there, he 
saw a mermaid, and determined to try her with a shot. So he 
drew the small charge from his gun and loaded it with ball — 
that he always had by him for seal-shooting — fired, and hit the 
mermaid through the breast. The screams and moans of the 
creature — whose person he describes most accurately — w-ere 
the most horrible, heart-rending noises that he ever, he said, 
heard ; and not only were they heard by him, but by the fisher- 
men along the coast, who were furiously angry against Mr. 

A n, because, they said, the injury done to the mermaid 

would cause her to drive all the fish away from the bay for 
years to come. 

But we did not, to my disappointment, catch a glimpse of 
one of these interesting beings, nor of the great sea-horse 
which is said to inhabit these waters, nor of any fairies (of 
whom the stroke-oar, Mr. Marcus, told us not to speak, for 
they didn't like bein' spoken of) ; nor even of a salmon, though 
the fishermen produced the most tempting flies. The only 
animal of any size that was visible we saw while lying by a 
swift black river that comes jumping with innumerable little 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



463 



Weaves into Derryclear, and where the sahnon are especially 
suffered to '' stand :'' this animal was an eagle — a real wild 
;agle, with grey wings and a white head and belly ; it swept 
round us, within gun-shot reach, once or twice, through the 
.eaden sky, and then seltled on a gray rock and began to 
scream its shrill, ghastly aquiline note. 

The attempts on the salmon having failed, the rain con- 
:niuing to fall steadily, the herd's cottage before named was 
resorted to ; when Marcus, the boatman, commenced forthwith 
to gut the fish, and taking down some charred turf-ashes from 
the blazing fire, on which about a hundredweight of potatoes 
were boiling, he — Marcus — proceeded to grill on the floor 
some of the trout, which we afterwards ate with immeasurable 
satisfaction. They were such trouts as,^vhen once tasted, 
remain forever in the recollection of a commonly grateful 
mind — rich, flaky, creamy, full of flavor. A Parisian gourmand 
vvould have paid ten francs for the smallest cookeii among them _, 
md, when transported to his capital, how different in flavor 
would they have been ! — how inferior to what they were as we 
devoured them, fresh from the fresh waters of the lake, and 
jerked as it were from the water to the gridiron ! The world 
had not had time to spoil those innocent beings before they 
were gobbled up with pepper and salt, and missed, no doubt, 
by their friends. I should like to know more of their " set.'" 
But enough of this : my feelings overpower me . suffice it to 
say, they were red or salmon trouts — none of your white- 
fleshed brown-skinned river fellows. 

When the gentlemen had finished their repast, the boatmen 
md the family set to work upon the ton of potatoes, a number 
Df the remaining fish, and a store of other good things ; then 
we all sat round the turf-fire in the dark cottage, the rain 
:oming down steadily outside, and veiling everything except 
die shrubs and verdure immediately about the cottage. The 
herd, the herd's wife, and a nondescript female friend, two 
healthy young herdsmeri"in~ corduroy rags, the herdsman's 
daughter paddling about wdth bare feet, a stout black-eyed 
wench with her gown over he» head and a red petticoat not 
quite so good as new, the two boatmen, a badger just killed 
md turned inside out, the gentlemen, some hens cackling and 
dapping about am.ong the rafters, a calf in a corner cropping 
^reen meat and occasionally visited by the cow her mamma, 
:ormed the society of the place. It was rather a strange pic- 
:ure ; but as for about two hours we sat there, and maintained 
in almost unbroken silence, and as there was no other amuse- 



464 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



ment but to look at the rain, I began, after the enthusiasm of 
the first half-hour, to think that after all London was a bear- 
able place, and .that for want of a turf-fire and a bench in 
Connemara, one might put up with a sofa and a newspaper in 
Pall MalL 

This, however, is according to tastes ; and I must say that 
Mr. Marcus betrayed a most bitter contempt for all cockney 
tastes, awkwardness, and ignorance : and very right too. The 
night, on our return home, all of a sudden cleared; but though 
the fishermen, much to my disgust — at the expression of which, 
however, the rascals only laughed — persisted in making more 
casts for trout, and trying back in the dark upon the spots 
which we had visited in the morning, it appeared the fish had 
been frightened off by the rain ; and the sportsmen met with 
such indifferent success that at about ten o'clock we found' 
ourselves at Ballinahinch. Dinner was served at eleven ; and, 
I believe, there was some whiskey-punch afterwards, recom- 
mended medicinally and to prevent the ill effects of the wet- 
ting : but that is neither here nor there. 

The next day the petty sessions were to be held at Round- 
stone, a little town which has lately sprung up near the noblej 
bay of that name. I was glad to see some specimens of Con- 
nemara litigation, as also to behold at least one thousand' 
beautiful views that lie on the five miles of road between thcj 
town and Ballinahinch. Rivers and rocks, mountains and sea, 
green plains and bright skies, how (for the hundred-and-fiftieth 
time) can pen and ink set you down ? But if Berghem could 
have seen those blue mountains, and Karel Dujardin could 
have copied some of these green, airy plains, with their brilliant^ 
little colored groups of peasants, beggars, horsemen, many an 
Englishman would know Connemara upon canvas as he does 
Italy or Flanders now. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

ROUNDSTONE PETTY SESSIONS. 



".The temple of august Themis," as a Frenchman woulc 
call the sessions-room at Roundstone, is an apartment of some 
twelve feet square, with a deal table and a couple of chairs for 
the accommodation of the magistrates, and a Testament with 



THK IRISH SKKTCJI BOOK. ^(jr 

a paper cross pasted on it to be kissed by the witnesses aiul 
complainants who frequent the court. The law-papers, war- 
rants, &c.. are kept on the sessions-clerk's bed in an adjoining 
apartment, which commands a fine view of the court-yard — 
where there is a stack of turf, a pig, and a shed beneath which 
the magistrates' horses were sheltered during the sitting. The 
sessions-clerk is a gentleman " having," as the phrase is here, 
both the English and Irish languages, and interpreting for the 
benefit of the worshipful bench. 

And if the cockney reader supposes that in this remote 
country spot, so wild, so beautiful, so distant from the hum 
and vice of cities, quarrelling is not, and litigation never shows 
her snaky head, he is very much mistaken. From what I saw, 
I would recommend any ingenious young attorney whose merits 
are not appreciated in the metropolis, to make an attempt upon 
the village of Roundstone ; where as yet, I believe, there is 
no solicitor, and wdiere an immense and increasing practice 
might speedily be secured. Mr. O'Connell, who is always 
crying out "Justice for Ireland," finds strong supporters among 
the Roundstonians, whose love of justice for themselves is 
inordinate. I took down the plots of the first five little liti- 
gious dramas which were played before Mr. Martin and the 
stipendiary magistrate. 

Case I. — A boy summoned a young man for beating him 
so severely that he kept his bed for a week, thereby break- 
ing an engagement with his master, and losing a quarter's 
iges. 

,The defendant stated, in reply, that the plaintiff was en- 
gaged — in a field through which defendant passed with another 
person — setting two little boys to fight ; on which defendant 
took plaintiff by the collar and turned him out of the field. 
A witness who was present swore that defendant never struck 
plaintiff at all, nor kicked him, nor ill-used him, further than 
by pushing him out of the field. 

As to the loss of his quarter's wages, the plaintiff inge- 
niously proved that he had afterwards returned to his master, 
that he had worked out his time, and that he had in fact re- 
ceived already the greater part of his hire. Upon which the 
case was dismissed, the defendant quitting court without a 
stain upon his honor. 

Case 2 was a most piteous and lamentable case of killing 
a cow. The plaintiff stepped forward with many tears and 
much gesticulation to state the fact, and also to declare that 
she w^as in danger of her life from the defendant's family. 

30 



^66 THE IRISH SKETCH BOO FT. 

i 

It appeared on the evidence that a portion of the defend«i 
ant's respectable family are at present undergoing the rewards 
which the law assigns to those who make mistakes in fields 
with regard to the ownership of sheep which sometimes graze 
there. The defendant's father, O'Damon, for having apptO'j 
priated one of the fleecy bleaters of O'Meliboeus, was at present 
passed beyond sea to a country where wool, and consequently; 
mutton, is so plentiful, that he will have the less temptation.! 
Defendant's brothers tread the Ixionic wheel for the sam^ 
offence. Plaintiff's son had been the informer in the case i 
hence the feud between the families, the threats on the part oli 
ihe defendant, the murder of the innocent cow. | 

But upon investigation of the business, it was discovered,! 
and on the plaintiff's own testimony, that the cow had not beeii 
killed, nor even been injured ; but that the defendant had flung[ 
two stones at it, which m/g/if have inflicted great injury had!:: 
they hit the animal with greater force in the eye or in any deli4 
cate place. 

Defendant admitted flinging the stones, but alleged as a 
reason that the cow was trespassing on his grounds ; which 
plaintiff did not seem inclined to deny. Case dismissed. — De- 
fendant retires with unblemished honor ; on which his motheri 
steps forward, and lifting up her hands with tears and shrieks, , 
calls upon God to witness that the defendant's own brother-in-^ 
law had sold to her husband the very sheep on account off 
which he had been transported. 

Not wishing probably to doubt the justice of the verdict of 
an Irish jury, the magistrate abruptly put an end to the lamen- 
tation and oaths of the injured woman by causing her to be 
sent out of court, and called the third case on. 

This was a case of thrilling interest and. a complicated na- 
ture, involving two actions, which ought each perhaps to have 
been gone into separately, but were taken together. In the 
first place Timothy Horgan brought an action against Patrick 
Dolan for breach of contract in not remaining with him for the 
whole of six months during which Dolan had agreed to serve 
Horgan. Then Dolan brought an action against Horgan for 
not paying hmi his wages' for six months' labor done — the 
wages being two guineas. 

Horgan at once, and with much candor, withdrew his charge ^ 
against Dolan, that the latter had not remained with him for six 
months ; nor can I understand to this day why in the first jDlace 
he swore to the charge ; and why afterwards he withdrew it. 
But immediately advancing another charge against his late sep 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 467 

vant, he pleaded that he had given him a suit of clothes, which 
should be considered as a set-off against part of the money 
claimed. 

Now such a suit of clothes as poor Dolan had was never 
seen — I will not say merely on an English scarecrow, but on an 
Irish beggar. Strips of rags fell over the honest fellow's great 
brawny chest, and the covering on his big brown legs hung on 
by a wonder. He held out his arms with a grim smile, and 
told his worship to look at the clothes ! The argument was 
irresistible : Morgan was ordered to pay forthwith. He ought 
to have been made to pay another guinea for clothing a fellow- 
creature in rags so abominable. 

And now came a case of trespass, in which there was noth- 
ing interesting but the attitude of the poor woman who tres- 
passed, and who meekly acknowledged the fact. She stated, 
however, that she only got over the wall as a short cut home ; 
but the wall was eight feet high, with a ditch too ; and I fear 
there were cabbages or potatoes in the inclosure. They fined 
her a sixpence, and she could not pay it, and went to jail for 
three days — where she and her baby at any rate will get a meal. 

Last on the list which I took down came a man who will 
make the fortune of the London attorney that I hope is on his 
way hither : a rather old, curly-headed man, with a sly smile 
perpetually lying on his face (the reader may give whatever in- 
terpretation he please to the " lying "). He comes before the 
court almost every fortnight, they say, with a complaint of one 
kind or other. His present charge was against a man for 
breaking into his court-yard, and wishing to take possession of 
the same. It appeared that he, the defendant, and another 
lived in a row of houses : the plaintiff's house was, however, 
first built ; and as his agreement specified that the plot of 
ground behind his house should be his likewise, he chose to 
imagine that the plot of ground behind all the three houses was 
his, and built his turf-stack against his neighbor's window. 
The magistrates of course pronounced against this ingenious 
discoverer of wrongs, and he left the court still smiling and 
twisting round his little wicked eyes, and declaring solemnly 
that he would put in an appalc. If one could have iDurchased 
a kicking at a moderate price off that fellow's back, it would 
have been a pleasant little piece of self-indulgence, and I con- 
fess I longed to ask him the price of the article. 

And so, after a few more such great cases, the court rose, 
and I had leisure to make moral reflections, if so minded : 
sighing to think that cruelty and falsehood, selfishness and 



468 THE IRfSIl Sk'ETi'ff BOOK. 

rapacity, dwells not in crowds alone, but liourish all the world 
over — sweet flowers of human nature, they bloom in all climates 
and seasons, and are just as much at home in a hot house in 
Thavies' Inn as on a lone mountain or a rocky sea-coast in 
Ireland, where never a tree will grow ! 

We walked along this coast, after the judicial proceedings 
were over, to see the country, and the new road that the Board 
of Works is forming. Such a wilderness of rocks I never saw ! 
The district for miles is covered with huge stones, shining white 
in patches of green, with the Binabola on one side of the spec- 
tator, and the Atlantic running in and out of a thousand little 
bays on the other. The country is very hilly, or wavy rather, 
being a sort of ocean petrified; and the engineers have hard 
work with these numerous abrupt little ascents and descents, 
which they equalize as best they may — by blasting, cutting, 
filling cavities, and levelling eminences. Some hundreds of 
men were employed at this work, busy with their hand- 
barrows, their picking and boring. Their pay is eighteen- 
pence a day. , 

There is little to see in the town of Roundstone, except a 
Presbyterian chapel in process of erection — that seems big 
enough to accommodate the Presbyterians of the country — and a 
sort of lay convent, being a community of brothers of the third 
order of Saint Francis. They are all artisans and workmen, 
taking no vows, but living together in common, and undergoing ; 
a certain religious regimen. Their work is said to be very 
good, and all are employed upon some labor or other. On the 
front of this unpretending little dwelling is an inscription with 
a great deal of pretence, stating that the establishment was 
founded with the approbation of " His Grace the Most Reverend 
the Lord Archbishop of Tuam." 

The Most Reverend Dr. MacHale is a clergyman of great 
learning, talents, and honesty, but his Grace the Lord Arch- 
bishop of Tuam strikes me as being no better than a mounte- 
bank ; and some day I hope even his own party will laugh this 
humbug down. It is bad enough to be awed by big titles at 

all ; but to respect sham ones ! O stars and garters ! We 

shall have his Grace the Lord Chief Rabbi next, or his Lordship 
the Arch-Imaum ! 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



469 



CHAPTER XIX. 

CLIFDEN TO WESTPORT. 

On leaving Ballinahinch (with sincere regret, as any lonely 
tourist may imagine, who is Called upon to quit the hospitable 
friendliness of such a place and society), my way lay back to 
Clifden again, and thence through the Joyce country, by the 
Killery mountains, to Westport in Mayo. The road, amounting 
in all to four-and-forty Irish miles, is performed in cars, in dif- 
ferent periods of time, according to your horse and your luck. 
Sometimes, both being bad, the traveller is two days on the 
road ; sometimes a dozen hours will suffice for the journey — 
which was the case with me, though I confess to having found 
the twelve hours long enough. After leaving Clifden, the 
friendly look of the country seemed to vanish ; and though 
picturesque enough, was a thought too wild and dismal for 
eyes accustomed to admire a hop-garden in Kent, or a view of 
rich meadows in Surrey, with a clump of trees and a comfortable 
village spire. " Inglis," the Guide-book says, " compares the 
scenes to the Norwegian Fiords.'' Well, the Norwegian Fiords 
must, in this case, be very dismal sights ! and I own that the 
wilderness of Hampstead Heath (with the imposing walls of 
" Jack Straw^'s Castle " rising stern in the midst of the green 
wilderness) is more to my taste than the general views of 
yesterday. 

We skirted by lake after lake, lying lonely in the midst of 
lonely boglands, or bathing the sides of mountains robed in 
sombre rifle green. Two or three men, and as many huts, you 
see in the course of each mile perhaps, as toiling up the bleak 
hills, or jingling more rapidly down them, you pass through 
this sad region. In the midst of the wilderness a chapel stands 
here and there, solitary, on the hill-side ; or a ruinous, useless 
school-house, its pale walls contrasting with the general sur- 
rounding hue of sombre purple and green. But though the 
country looks more dismal than Connemara, it is clearly more 
fertile : we passed miles of ground that evidently wanted but 
little cultivation to make them profitable ; and along the moun- 
tain-sides, in many places, and o\er a great extent of Mr. 



470 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



Blake's country especially, the hills were covered with a thick 
natural plantation, that may yield a little brushwood now, but 
might in fifty year's time bring thousands of pounds of revenue 
to the descendants of the Blakes. This spectacle of a country 
going to waste is enough to make the cheerfullest landscape 
look dismal : it gives this wild district a woeful look indeed. 
The names of the lakes by which we came I noted down in a 
pocket-book as we passed along ; but the names were Irish, the 
car was rattling, and the only name readable in the catalogue is 
Letterfrack. 

The little hamlet of Leenane is at twenty miles' distance 
from Clifden ; and to arrive at it, you skirt the mountain along- 
one side of a vast pass, through which the ocean runs from 
Killery Bay, separating the mountains of Mayo from the moun 
tains of Galway. Nothing can be more grand and gloomy than 
this pass ; and as for the character of the scenery, it must, as 
the Guide-book says, " be seen to be understood." Meanwhile, 
let the reader imagine huge dark mountains in their accustomed 
livery of purple and green, a dull gray sky above them, an 
estuary silver-bright below : in the water lies a fisherman's boat 
or two ; a pair of seagulls undulating with the little waves of 
the water ; a pair of curlews wheeling overhead and piping on 
the wing ; and on the hill-side a jingling car, with a cockney in 
it, oppressed by and yet admiring all these things. Many a 
sketcher and tourist, as I found, has visited this picturesque 
spot : for the hostess of the inn had stories of English and 
American painters, and of illustrious book-writers too, travelling 
in the service of our Lords of Paternoster Row. 

The landlord's son of Clifden, a very intelligent young fellow, 
was here exchanged for a new carman in the person of a raw 
Irisher of twenty years of age, *' having " little English, and 
dressed in that very pair of pantaloons which Humphrey Clinker 
was compelled to cast off some years since on account of the 
offence which they gave to Mrs, Tabitha Bramble. This fellow, 
emerging from among the boats, went off to a field to seek for 
the black horse, which the landlady assured me was quite fresh 
and had not been out all day, and would carry me to Westport 
in three hours. Meanwhile I was lodged in a neat little parlor, 
surveying the Mayo side of the water, with some cultivated 
fields and a show of a village at the spot where the estuary 
ends, and above them lodges and fine dark plantations climb- 
ing over the dark hills that leads to Lord Sligo's seat of Delphi. 
Presently, with a curtsey, came a young woman who sold 
worsted socks at a shilling a pair. 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 471 

It required no small pains to entice this rustic beauty to 
stand while a sketch should be made of her. Nor did any 
compliments or cajolements, on my part or the landlady's, 
bring about the matter : it was not until money was offered 
that the lovely creature consented. I offered (such is the 
ardor of the real artist) either to give her sixpence, or to pur- 
chase two pairs of her socks, if she w^onld stand still for five 
minutes. On which she said she would prefer selling the 
socks. Then she stood still for a moment in the corner of the 
room ; then she turned her face towards the corner, and the 
other part of her person tow^ards the artist, and exclaimed in 
that attitude, " I must have a shilling more," Then I told her 
to go to the deuce. Then she made a proposition, involving 
the stockings and sixpence, which was similarly rejected ; and, 
finally, the design was completed at the price first stated. 

However, as we went off, this timid little dove barred the 
door for a moment, and said that " I ought to give her another 
shilling ; that a gentleman w^ould give her another shilling," 
and so on. She might have trod the London streets for ten 
years and not have been more impudent and more greedy. 

By this time the famous fresh horse w^as produced, and 
the driver, by means of a wraprascal, had covered a great part 
of the rags of his lower garment. He carried a w^hip and a 
stick, the former lying across his knees ornamentally, the 
latter being for service ; aad as his feet were directly under 
the horse's tail, he had full command of the brute's back, and 
belabored it for six hours without ceasing. 

What little English the fellow knew he uttered with a howl, 
roaring into my ear answ^ers — which, for the most part, were 
wrong — to various questions put to him. The lad's voice was 
so hideous, that I asked him if he could sing ; on which forth- 
witli he began yelling a most horrible Irish ditty — of which he 
told me the title, that I have forgotten. He sang three 
stanzas, certainly keeping a kind of tune, and the latter lines 
of each verse were in rhyme ; but when I asked him the mean- 
ing of the song, he only roared out its Irish title. 

On questioning the driver further, it turned out that the 
horse, warranted fresh, had already performed a journey of 
eighteen miles that morning, and the consequence was that I 
had full leisure to survey the country through which we passed. 
There were more lakes, more mountains, more bogs, and an 
excellent road through this district, though few only of the 
human race enlivened it. At ten miles from Leenane, we 
stopped at a road-side hut, where the driver pulled out a bag 



472 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 

of oats, and borrowing an iron pot from the good people, halt 
filled it with corn, which the poor tired, galled, bewhipped 
black horse began eagerly to devour. The young charioteer 
himself hinted very broadly his desire for a glass of whiskey, 
which was the only kind of refreshment that this remote house 
of entertainment supplied. 

In the various cabins I have entered, I have found talking 
a vain matter : the people are suspicious of the stranger within 
their wretched gates, and are shy, sly, and silent. I have, 
commonly, only been able to get half-answers in reply to my 
questions, given in a manner that seemed plainly to intimate 
that the visit was unwelcome. In this rude hostel, however, 
the landford was a little less reserved, offered a seat at the 
turf-fire, where a painter might have had a good subject for his 
skill. There was no chimney, but a hole in the roof, up 
which a small portion of the smoke ascended (the rest prefer- 
ring an egress by the door, or else to remain in the apartment 
altogether) ; and this light from above lighted up as rude a set 
of figures as ever were seen. There were two brown women 
with black eyes and locks, the one knitting stockings on the 
floor, the other " racking " (with that natural comb which five 
horny fingers supply) the elf-locks of a dirty urchin between 
her knees. An idle fellow was smoking his pipe by the fire ; 
and beside him sat a stranger, who had been made welcome to 
the shelter of the place — a sickly, well-looking man, whom I 
mistook for a deserter at first, for he had evidently been a 
soldier. 

But there was nothing so romantic as desertion in his his- 
tory. He had been in the Dragoons, but his mother had pur- 
chased his discharge : he was married, and had lived com- 
fortably in Cork for some time, in the glass-blowing business. 
Trade failing at Cork, he had gone to Belfast to seek for work. 
There was no work at Belfast ; and he was so far on his road 
home again : sick, without a penny in the world, a hundred and 
fifty miles to travel, and a starving wife and children to receive 
him at his journey's end. He had been thrown off a caravan 
that day, and had almost broken his back in the fall. Here 
was a cheering story ! I wonder where he is now : how far 
has the poor starving lonely man advanced over that weary 
desolate road, that in good health, and with a horse to carry 
me, I thought it a penalty to cross t What would one do under 
such circumstances, with solitude and hunger for present com- 
pany, despair and starvation at the end of the vista ? There ; 
are a score of lonely lakes along the road which he has to pass : • 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 473 

would it be well to stop at one of them, and fling into ii 
the wretched load of cares which that poor broken back has to 
carry ? Would the world he would light on thm be worse for 
him than that he is pining in now ? Heaven help us ! and on 
this very day, throughout the three kingdoms, there is a million 
such stories to be told ! Who dare doubt of heaven after that ? 
of a place where there is at last a welcome to the heart-stricken 
prodigal and a happy home to the wretched ? 

The crumbs of oats which fell from the mouth of the feast- 
ing Dives of a horse were battled for outside the door by a 
tlozen Lazaruses in the shape of fowls ; and a lanky young 
pig, who had been grunting in an old chest in the cabin, or in 
a miserable recess of huddled rags and straw which formed the 
couch of the family, presently came out, and drove the poultry 
away, picking up, with great accuracy, the solitary grains lying 
about, and more than once trying to shove his snout into the 
corn-pot, and share with the wretched old galled horse. 
Whether it was that he was refreshed by his meal, or that the 
car-boy was invigorated by his glass of whiskey, or inflamed 
by the sight of eighteenpence — which munificent sum was ten- 
dered to the soldier — I don't know ; but the remaining eight 
miles of the journey were got over in much quicker time, 
although the road was exceedingly bad and hilly for the great- 
est part of the way to Westport. However, by running up the 
hills at the pony's side, the animal, fired with emulation, trotted 
up them too — descending them with the proverbial surefooted- 
ness of his race, the car and he bouncing over the rocks and 
stones at the rate of at least four Irish miles an hour. 

At about five miles from Westport the cultivation became 
much more frequent. There were plantations upon the hills, 
3^ellow corn and potatoes in plenty in the fields, and houses 
thickly scattered. We had the satisfaction, too, of knowing 
that future tourists will have an excellent road to travel over 
in this district : for by the side of the old road, which runs up 
and down a hundred little rocky steeps, according to the 
ancient plan, you see a new one running for several miles, — 
the latter way being conducted, not over the hills, but around 
them, and, considering the circumstances of the country, ex- 
tremely broad and even. The car-boy presently yelled out 
" Reek, Reek ! " with a shriek perfectly appalling. This howl 
was to signify that we v:ere in sight of that famous conical 
mountain so named, and from which St. Patrick, after invei- 
gling thither all the venomous reptiles in Ireland, precipitated 
the whole noisome race into Clew Bay. The road also for 



474 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

several miles was covered with people, who were flocking in 
hundreds from Westport market, in cars and carts, on horse- 
back single and double, and on foot. 

And presently from an eminence, I caught sight not only of 
a fine view, but of the most beautiful view I ever saw in the 
world, I think ; and to enjoy the splendor of which I would 
I ravel a hundred miles in that car with that very horse and 
driver. The sun was just about to set, and the country round 
about and to the east was almost in twilight. The mountains 
were tumbled about in a thousand fantastic ways, and swarm- 
ing with people, frees, corn-fields, cottages, made the scer.e 
indescribably cheerful ; noble woods stretched towards the 
sea, and abutting on them, between two highlands, lay the 
smoking town. Hard by was a large Gothic building — it is but 
a poor-house ; but it looked like a grand castle in the gra\ 
evening. But the Bay — and the Reek which sweeps down to 
the sea — and a hundred islands in it, were dressed up in gold 
and purple and crimson, with the whole cloudy west in a flame. 
Wonderful, wonderful ! * * The valleys in the road to 
Leenane have lost all glimpses of the sun ere this ; and I sup- 
pose there is not a soul to be seen in the black landscape, or 
by the shores of the ghastly lakes, where the poor glass-blower 
from the whiskey-shop is faintly travelling now. 



CHAPTER XX. 

WESTPORT. 

Nature has done much for this pretty town of Westport : 
and after Nature, the traveller ought to be thankful to Lord 
Sligo, who has done a great deal too. In the first place, he 
has established one of the prettiest, comfortablest inns in Ire- 
land, in the best part of his little town, stocking the cellars 
with good wines, filling the house with neat furniture, and 
lending, it is said, the whole to a landlord gratis, on condition 
that he should keep the house warm, and furnish the larder, 
and entertain the traveller. Secondly, Lord Sligo has given 
up, for the use of the townspeople, a beautiful little pleasure- 
ground about his house. " You may depand upon it," said a 
Scotchman at the inn, " that they've right of pathway through 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



475 



the groonds, and that the marquess couldn't shut them oot." 
Which is a pretty fair specimen of charity in this world — this 
kind world, that is always ready to encourage and applaud 
good actions, and find good motives for the same. I wonder 
how much would mduce that Scotchman to allow poor people 
walk in his park, if he had one ! 

In the midst of this pleasure-ground, and surrounded by a 
liiousand fine trees, dressed up in all sorts of verdure, stands 
ii pretty little church ; paths through the wood lead pleasantly 
down to the" bay; and, as we walked down to it on the day 
atter our arrival, one of the green fields was suddenly black 
with rooks, making a huge cawing and clanging as they settled 
down to feed. The house, a handsome massive structure, 
must command noble views of the bay, over which all the 
colors of Titian were spread as the sun set behind its purple 
islands. 

Printer's ink will not give these wonderful hues ; and the 
reader will make his picture at his leisure. That conical 
mountain to the left is Croaghpatrick : it is clothed in the 
most magnificent violet-color, and a couple of round clouds 
were exploding as it were from the summit, that part of them 
towards the sea lighted up with the most delicate gold and 
rose color. In the centre is the Clare Island, of which the 
edges were bright cobalt, whilst the middle was lighted up 
with a brilliant scarlet tinge, such as I would have laughed at 
in a picture, never hafving seen in nature before, but looked at 
now with wonder and pleasure until the hue disappeared as 
the sun went away. The islands in the bay (which was of a 
gold color) looked like so many dolphins and whales basking 
there. The rich park-woods stretched down to the shore ; 
and the immediate foreground consisted of a yellow corn-field, 
whereon stood innumerable shocks of corn, casting immense 
long purple shadows over the stubble. The farmer, with some 
little ones about him, was superintending his reapers ; and I 
heard him say to a little girl, " Norey, I love you the best of 
all my children ! " Presently, one of the reapers coming up, 
says, " it's always the custom in these parts to ask strange 
gentlemen to give something to drink the first day of reaping \ 
and we'd like to drink your honor's health in a bowl of coffee." 
O fortunatos nimium ! The cockney takes out sixpence, and 
thinks that he never passed such a pleasant half-hour in all 
his life as m that corn-field, looking at that wonderful bay. 

A car which I had ordered presently joined me from the 
town, and going down a green lane very like England, and 



476 THE /RJSH SJCE TCH B O 0K\ 

across a causeway near a building where the carman proposed 
to show me " me hird's caffin that he brought from Rome, and 
a mighty big caffin entirely," we came close upon the water 
and the port. There was a long handsome pier (which, no 
doubt, remains at this present minute), and one solitary cutter 
lying alongside it ; which may or may not be there now. There 
were about three boats lying near the cutter, and six sailors, 
with long shadows, lolling about the pier. As for the ware- 
houses, they are enormous ; and might accommodate, I should 
think, not only the trade of Westport, but of Manchester too. 
There are huge streets of these houses, ten storeys high, with 
cranes, owners' names, &c., marked Wine Stores, Flour Stores, 
Bonded Tobacco Warehouses, and so forth. The six sailors 
that were singing on the pier no doubt are each admirals of as 
many fleets of a hundred sail that bring wines and tobacco 
from all quarters of the world to fill these enormous ware- 
houses. These dismal mausoleums, as vast as pyramids, are 
the places where the dead trade of Westport lies buried — a 
trade that, in its lifetime, probably was about as big as a 
mouse. Nor is this the first nor the hundredth place to be 
seen in this country, which sanguine builders have erected 
to accommodate an imaginary commerce. Mill-owners over- 
mill themselves, merchants over-warehouse themselves, squires 
over-castle themselves, little tradesmen about Dublin and the 
cities over-villa and over-gig themselves, and we hear sad tales 
about hereditary bondage and the accursed tyranny of Eng- 
land. 

Passing out of this dreary, pseudo-commercial port, the 
road lay along the beautiful shores of Clew Bay, adorned with 
many a rickety villa and pleasure-house, from the cracked 
windows of which may be seen one of the noblest views in the 
world. One of the villas the guide pointed out with peculiar 
exultation: it is called by a grand name — Waterloo Park, 
and has a lodge, and a gate, and a field of a couple of acres, 
and belongs to a young gentleman who, being able to write 
Waterloo Park on his card, succeeded in carr}'ing oft' a young 
London heiress with a hundred thousand pounds. The young 
couple had just arrived, and one of them must have been 
rather astonished, no doubt, at the "park." But what will 
not love do .? With love and a hundred thousand pounds, a 
cottage may be made to look like a castle, and a park of two 
acres may be brought to extend for a mile. The -night began 
now to fall, wrapping up in a sober gray livery the bay and 
mountains, which had just been so gorgeous in sunset ; and 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 4^7 

we turned our backs presently upon the bay, and the villas 
with the cracked windows, and scaling a road of perpetual ups 
and downs, went back to Westport. On the way was a pretty 
cemetery, lying on each side of the road, with a ruined chapel 
for the ornament of one division, a holy well for the other. In 
the holy well lives a sacred trout, whom sick people come to 
consult, and who operates great cures in the neighborhood. 
If the patient sees the trout floating on his back, he dies ; if 
on his belly, he lives ; or vice versd. The little spot is old, ivy- 
grown, and picturesque, and I can't fancy a better place for a 
pilgrim to kneel and say his beads at. 

But considering the whole country goes to mass, and that 
the priests can govern it as they will, teaching what shall be 
believed and what shall be not credited, would it not be well 
for their reverences, in the year eighteen hundred and forty- 
two, to discourage these absurd lies and superstitions, and 
teach some simple truths to their flock ? Leave such figments 
to magazine-writers and ballad-makers ; but, corbleu ! it makes 
one indignant to think that people in the United Kingdom, 
where a press is at work and good sense is abroad, and clergy- 
men are eager to educate the people, should countenance such 
savage superstitions and silly, grovelling heathenisms. 

The chapel is before the inn where I resided, and on Sun- 
day, from a very early hour, the side of the street was thronged 
with worshippers, who came to attend the various services. 
Nor are the Catholics the only devout people of this remote 
district. There is a large Presbyterian church very well at- 
tended, as was the Established Church ser\dce in the pretty 
church in the park. There was no organ, but the clerk and a 
choir of children sang hymns sweetly and truly ; and a charity 
sermon being preached for the benefit of the diocesan schools, 
I saw many pound-notes in the plate, showing that the Protes- 
tants here were as ardent as their Roman Catholic brethren. 
The sermon was extempore, as usual, according to the prevail- 
ing taste here. The preacher by putting aside his sermon-book 
may gain in warmth, which we don't want, but lose in reason, 
which we do. If I were Defender of the Faith, I would issue 
an order to all priests and deacons to take to the book again ; 
weighing well, before they uttered it, every word they proposed 
to say upon so great a subject as that of religion ; and mis- 
trusting that dangerous facility given by active jaws and a hot 
imagination. Reverend divines have adopted this habit, and 
keep us for an hour listening to what might well be told in ten 
minutes. They are wondrously fluent, considering all things ; 



478 THE IRISH SKE TCH B O OK. 

and though I have heard many a sentence begun whereof the 
speaker did not evidently know the conclusion, yet, somehow 
or other, he has always managed to get through the paragraph 
without any hiatus, except perhaps in the sense. And as far 
as I. can remark, it is not calm, plam, downright preachers who 
])reserve the extemporaneous system for the most part, but pom- 
pous orators, indulging in all the cheap graces of rhetoric — 
exaggerating ■' <ds and feelings to make effect, and dealing in 
pious caricatui'-. Church-goers become excited by this loud 
talk and captivating manner, and can't go back afterwards to 
a sober discourse read out of a grave old sermon-book, appeal- 
ing to the reason and the gentle feelings, instead of to the 
passions and the imagination. Beware of too much talk, O 
parsons ! If a man is to give an account of every idle word 
he utters, foi what a number of such loud nothings, wmdy em- 
])hatic tropes and metaphors, spoken, not tor God's glory, but 
the preacher's, will many a cushion-thumper have to answer ! 
And this rebuke may properly find a place h'ere, because the 
clergyman by whose discourse it was elicited is not of the elo- 
quent dramatic sort, but a gentleman, it is said, remarkable for 
old-fashioned learning and quiet habits, that do not seem to 
]3e to the taste of the many boisterous young clergy of the 
present day. 

The Catholic chapel was built before their graces the most 
reverend lord archbishops came into fashion. It is large and 
gloomy, with one or two attempts at ornament by way of pic- 
tures at the altars, and a good inscription warning the in-comer, 
in a few bold words, of the sacredness of the place he stands 
in. Bare feet bore away thousands of people who came to 
pray there : there were numbers of smart equipages for the 
richer Protestant congregation. Strolling about the town in 
the balmy summer evening, I heard the sweet tones of a hymn 
from the people in the Presbyterian praying-house. Indeed, 
the country is full of piety, and a warm, sincere, undoubting 
devotion. 

On week-days the street before the chapel is scarcely less 
crowded than on the Sabbath: but it is with women and chil- 
dren merely ; for a stream bordered with lime-trees runs pleas- 
antly down the street, and hither come innumerable girls to 
wash, while the children make dirt-pies and look on. Wilkie 
was here some years since, and the place affords a great deal 
of amusement to the painter ot character. Sketching, tant bien 
que 7fial, the bridge and the trees, and some of the nymphs en- 
gaged in the stream, the writer became an object of no small 



THE IRISH iiKETCH BOOK. 479 

attention ; and at least a score of dirty brats left their dirt-pies 
to look on, the bare-legged washing-girls grinning from the 
water. 

One, a regular rustic beauty, whose face and figure would 
have made the fortune of a frontispiece, seemed particularly 
amused and aga^ante ; and I walked round to get a drawing of 
I^er fresh jolly face : but directly I came near she pulled her 
\vn over her head, and resolutely turned round her back ; 
.Hid, as that part of her person did not seem to differ in char- 
acter from the backs of the rest of Europe, there is no need 
of takins: its likeness. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

THE PATTERN AT CROAGHPATRICK. 

On the Pattern day, however, the washerwomen and chil- 
dren had all disappeared — nay, the stream, too, seemed to be 
gone out of town. There was a report current, also, that on 
the occasion of the Pattern, six hundred teetotallers had sworn 
to revolt • and I fear that it was the hope of witnessing this 
awful rebellion which induced me to stay a couple of days at 
Westport. The Pattern was commenced on the Sunday, and 
the priests going up to the mountain took care that there should 
be no sports nor dancing on that day , but that the people 
should only content themselves with the performance of v/hat 
are called religious duties. Religious duties ! Heaven help 
us ! If these reverend gentlemen were worshippers of Moloch 
or Baal, or any deity whose honor demanded bloodshed, and 
savage rites, and degradation, and torture, one might fancy 
them encouraging the people to the disgusting penances the 
poor things here perform. But it's too hard to think that in 
our days any priests of any religion should be found superin- 
tending such a hideous series of self-sacrifices as are, it appears, 
performed on this hill. 

A friend who ascended the hill brought down the following 
account of it. The ascent is a very steep and hard one, he 
says ; but it was performed in company of thousands of people 
who were making their way barefoot to the several " stations " 
upon the hill. 



480 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 

"The first station consists of one heap of stones, round 
which they must walk seven times, casting a stone on the heap 
each time, and before and after every stone's throw saying a 
prayer. 

" The second station is on the top of the mountain. Here 
there is a great altar — a shapeless heap of stones. The poor 
wretches crawl on their knees into this jDlace, say fifteen prayers, 
and after going round the entire top of the mountain fifteen 
times, say fifteen prayers again. 

"The third station is near the bottom of the mountain at 
the further side from Westport. It consists of three heaps. 
The penitents must go seven times round these collectively, 
and seven times afterwards round each individually, saying a 
prayer before and after each progress." 

My informant describes the people as coming away from this 
" frightful exhibition suffering severe pain, wounded and bleed- 
ing in the knees and feet, and some of the women shrieking 
with the pain of their wounds." Fancy thousands of these 
bent upon their work, and priests standing by to encourage 
them ! — For shame, for shame. If all the popes, cardinals, 
bishops, hermits, priests, and deacons that ever lived were to 
come forward and preach this as a truth — that to please God 
you must macerate your body, that the sight of your agonies is 
welcome to Him, and that your blood, groans, and degradation 
find favor in His eyes, I would not believe them. Better have 
over a company of Fakeers at once, and set the Suttee going. 

Of these tortures, however, I had not the fortune to witness 
a sight : for going towards the mountain for the first four miles, 
the only conveyance I could find was half the pony of an honest 
sailor, who said, when applied to, " I tell you what I do wid 
you : I give you a spell about." But, as it turned out we were 
going different ways, this help was iDut a small one. A car 
with a spare seat, however, (there were hundreds of others quite 
full, and scores of rattling country-carts covered with people, 
and thousands of bare legs trudging along the road,) — a car 
with a spare seat passed by at two miles from the Pattern, and 
that just in time to get comfortably wet through on arriving 
there. The whole mountain was enveloped in mist ; and we 
could nowhere see thirty yards before us. The women walked 
forward, with their gowns over their heads ; the men sauntered 
on in the ram, with the utmost indifference to it. The car 
presently came to a cottage, the court in front of which was 
black with two hundred horses, and where as many drivers were 
jangling and bawling j and here we were told to descend. You 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



48 



had to go over a wall and across a brook, and behold the 
Pattern. 

The pleasures of the poor people — for after the busmess on 
the mountain came the dancing and love-making at its foot — 
were woefully spoiled by the rain, which rendered dancing on 
the grass impossible ; nor were the tents big enough for that 
exercise. Indeed, the whole sight was as dismal and half- 
savage a one as I have seen. There may have been fifty of 
these tents squatted round a plain of the most brilliant green 
grass, behind which the mist-curtains seemed to rise immediately : 
for you could not even see the mountain-side beyond them. 
Here was a great crowd of men and women, all ugly, as the 
fortune of the day would have it (for the sagacious reader has, 
no doubt, remarked that there are ugly and pretty days in life). 
Stalls were spread about, whereof the owners were shrieking 
out the praises of their wares — ^great coarse damp-looking ban- 
nocks of bread for the most part, or, mayhap, a dirty collection 
of pigsfeet and such refreshments. Several of the booths pro- 
fessed to belong to " confectioners " from Westport or Castle- 
bar, the confectionery consisting of huge biscuits and doubtful- 
looking ginger-beer — ginger-ale or gingeretta it is called in this 
country, by a fanciful people who love the finest titles. Add to 
these, caldrons containing water for '' tay " at the doors of the 
booths, other pots full of masses of pale legs of mutton (the 
owner " prodding," every now ^d then, for a bit, and holding 
it up and asking the passenger to buy). In the booths it was 
impossible to stand ujDright, or to see much, on account of 
smoke. Men and women were crowded in these rude tents, 
huddled together, and disappearing in the darkness. Owners 
came bustling out to replenish the empty water-jugs : and land- 
ladies stood outside in the rain calling strenuously upon all 
passers-by to enter. 

Meanwhile, high up on the invisible mountain, the people 
were dragging their bleeding knees from altar to altar, flinging 
stones, and muttering some endless litanies, with the priests 
standing by. I think I was not sorry that the rain, and the 
care of my precious health, prevented me from mounting a 
severe hill to witness a sight that could only have caused one 
to be shocked and ashamed that servants of God should 
encourage it. The road home was very pleasant ; everybody 
was wet through, but everybody was happy, and by some miracle 
we were seven on the car. There was the honest Englishman 
in the military cap, who sang, '' The sea, the hopen sea's my 
'ome/' although not any one of the company called upon him 



482 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

for that air. Then the music was taken up by a good-natured 
lass from Castlebar ; then the Englishman again, '• With 
burnished brand and musketoon;" and there was no end of 
pushing, pinching, squeezing, and laughing. The Englishman, 
especially, had a favorite yell, with which he saluted and 
astonished all cottagers, passengers, cars, that we met or over- 
took. Presently came prancing by two dandies, who were 
especially frightened by the noise. "Thim's two tailors from 
Wcstport," said the carman, grinning with all his might. 
" Come, gat out of the way there, gat along ! " piped a small 
English voice from above somewhere. I looked up, and saw a 
little creature perched on the top of a tandem, which he was 
driving with the most knowing air — a dreadful young hero, with 
a white hat, and a white face, and a blue bird's-eye neck-cloth. 
He was five feet high, if an inch, an ensign, and sixteen ; and 
it was a great comfort to think, in case of danger or riot, that 
one of his years and personal strength was at hand to give 
help. 

" Thim's the afficers," said the carman, as the tandem 
wheeled by, a small groom quivering on behind — and the car- 
man spoke with the greatest respect this time. Two days be- 
fore, on ariving at Westport, I had seen the same equipage at 
the; door of the inn — where for a moment there happened to 
be no waiter to receive me. So, shouldering a carpet-bag, I 
walked into the inn-hall, ^^d asked a gentleman standing 
there where was the coffee-room ? It was the military tandem- 
driving youth, who with much grace looked up in my face, and 
said calmly, " I dawnt knowT I believe the little creature had 
just been dining in the very room — and so present my best 
compliments to him. 

'''he Guide-book will inform the traveller of many a beau- 
tiful spot which lies in the neighborhood of Westport, and 
which I had not time to visit ; but I must not take leave of the 
excellent little inn without speaking once more of its extreme 
comfort ; nor of the place itself, without another parting word 
regarding its beauty. It forms an event in one's life to have 
seen that place, so beautiful is it, and so unlike all other 
beauties that I know of. Were such beauties lying upon Eng- 
lish shores it would be a world's wonder • perhaps, if it were 
on the Mediterranean, or the Baltic, English travellers would 
flock to it by hundreds ; why not come and see it in Ireland ! 
Remote as the spot is, Westport is only two days' journey from 
London now, and lies in a country far more strange to most 
travellers than France or Germany can be. 



4^3 



THE JRJSH SKETCH BOOK. 
CHAPTER XXII. 

FROM WESTPORT TO BALLINASLOE. 

The mail-coach took us next day by Castlebar and Tuam 
to Ballinasloe, a journey of near eighty miles. The country 
is interspersed with innumerable seats belonging to the Blakes, 
the Browns, and the Lynches ; and we passed many large do- 
mains belonging to bankrupt lords and fugitive squires, with 
fine lodges adorned with moss and battered windows, and 
parks where, if the grass was growing on the roads, on the other 
hand the trees had been weeded out of the grass. About these 
seats and their owners the guard — an honest, shrewd fellow — 
had all the gossip to tell. The jolly guard himself was a ruin, 
it turned out : he told me his grandfather was a man of large 
property ; his father, he said, kept a pack of hounds, and had 
spent everything by the time he, the guard, was sixteen : so the 
lad made interest to get a mail-car to drive, whence he had 
been promoted to the guard's seat, and now^ for forty years 
has occupied it, travelling eighty miles, and earning seven- 
and-twopence every day of his life. He had been once ill, he 
said, for three days ; and if a man may be judged, by ten 
hours' talk with him, there were few more shrewd, resolute, 
simple-minded men to be found on the outside of any coaches 
or the inside of any houses in Ireland. 

During the first five-and-twenty miles of the journey, — for 
the day was very sunny and bright, — Croaghpatrick kept us 
company ; and, seated with your back to the horses, you could 
see, " on the left, that vast aggregation of mountains which 
stretches southwards to the Bay of Galway ; on the right, that 
gigantic assemblage wdiich sweeps in circular outline northward 
to Killule." Somewhere amongst those hills the great John 
Tuam w^as born, w^iose mansion and cathedral are to be seen 
in Tuam town, but whose fame is spread everywdiere. To ar- 
rive at Castlebar, we go over the undulating valley which lies 
between the mountains of Joyce country and Erris ; and the 
first object which you see on entering the town is a stately 
Gothic castle that stands at a short distance from it. 

On the gate of the stately Gothic castle was written an in- 
scription not very hospitable : " without beware, within 
AMEND j " — just beneath which is an iron crane of neat con- 



^84 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 

struction. The castle is the county jail, and the iron crane is 
the gallows of the district. The town seems neat and lively : 
there is a fine church, a grand barracks (celebrated as the resi- 
dence of the young fellow with the bird's eye neck-cloth), a 
club, and a Whig and Tory newspaper. The road hence to 
Tuam is very pretty and lively, from the number of country 
seats along the way giving comfortable shelter to more Blakes, 
Browns, and Lynches. 

In the cottages, the inhabitants looked healthy and rosy in 
their rags, and the cots themselves in the sunshine almost com- 
fortable. After a couple of months in the country, the stranger's 
eye grows somewhat accustomed to the rags : they do not 
frighten him as at first ; the people who wear them look for the 
most part healthy enough : especially the small children — those 
who can scarcely totter, and are sitting shading their eyes at 
the door, and leaving the unfinished dirt-pie to shout as the 
coach passes by — are as healthy a looking race as one will 
often see. Nor can any one pass through the land without 
being touched by the extreme love of children among the peo- 
ple : they swarm everywhere, and the whole country rings with 
cries of affection towards the children, with the songs of young 
ragged nurses dandling babies on their knees, and warnings of 
mothers to Patsey to come out of the mud, or Norey to get off 
the pig's back. 

At Tuam the coach stopped exactly for fourteen minutes and 
a half, during which time those who wished might dine : but in- 
stead, I had the pleasure of inspecting a very mouldy, dirty town, 
and made my way to the Catholic cathedral — a very handsome 
edifice indeed ; handsome without and within, and of the Gothic 
sort. Over the door is a huge coat of arms surmounted by a 
cardinal's hat — the arms of the see, no doubt, quartered with 
John Tuam's own patrimonial coat ; and that was a frieze 
coat, from all accounts, passably ragged at the elbows. Well, 
he must be a poor wag who could sneer at an old coat, because 
it was old and poor ; but if a man changes it for a tawdy gim- 
crack suit bedizened with twopenny tinsel, and struts about 
calling himself his grace and my lord, when may we laugh if not 
then ? There is something simple in the way in which these 
good people belord their clergymen, and respect titles real or 
sham. Take any Dublin paper, — a couple of columns of it are 
sure to be filled with movements of the small great men of 
the world. Accounts from Derrynane state tjiat the " Right 
Honorable the Lord Mayor is in good health — his lordship went 
out with his beagles yesterday ; " or " his Grace the Most 



THE IRISH SKE TCH B OK. 4^ t 

Reverend the Lord Archbishop of Ballyvvhack, assisted by the 
Right Reverend the Lord Bishops of Trimcomalee and Hip- 
popotamus, assisted," &c. ; or " Colonel Tims, of Castle Tims, 
and lady, have quitted the ' Shelburne Hotel,' with a parry for 
Kilballybathershins, where the august * party propose to enjoy 
a few days' shrimp-fishing," — and so on. Our people are not 
witty and keen of perceiving the ridiculous, like the Irish ; but 
the bluntness and honesty of the English havewellnigh kicked 
the fashionable humbug down ; and except perhaps among foot- 
men and about Baker Street, his curiosity about the aristocracy 
is wearing fast away. Have the Irish so much reason to re- 
spect their lords that they should so chronicle all their move- 
ments ; and not only admire real lords, but make sham ones of 
their own to admire them / 

There is no object of special mark upon the road from 
Tuam to Ballinasloe — the country being flat for the most part, 
and the noble Galway and Mayo mountains having disap- 
peared at length — until you come to a glimpse of Old England 
in the pretty village of Ahascragh. An old oak-tree grows in 
the neat street, the houses are as trim and white as eye can 
desire, and about the church and the town are handsome plan- 
tations, forming on the whole such a picture of comfort and 
plenty as is rarely to be seen in the part of Ireland I have 
traversed. All these wonders have been wrought by the ac- 
tivity of an excellent resident agent. There was a country- 
man on the coach deploring that, through family circumstances, 
this gentleman should have been dispossessed of his agency, 
and declaring that the village had already begun' to deterior- 
ate in consequence. The marks of such decay were not, how- 
ever, visible — at least to a new-comer ; and, being reminded of 
it, I indulged in many patriotic longings for England : as every 
P'.nglishman does when he is travelling out of the country which 
he is always so willing to quit. 

That a place should instantly begin to deteriorate because 
a certain individual was removed from it — that cottagers should 
become thriftless, and houses dirty, and house windows crack- 
ed, — all these are points which public economists may rumi- 
nate over, and can't fail to give the carlessest traveller much 
matter for painful reflection. How is it that the presence of 
one man more or less should affect a set of people come to 
years of manhood, and knowing that they have their duty to 
do t Why should a man at Ahascragh let his home go to ruin, 
and stuff his windows with ragged breeches instead of glass, 

* This epithet is applied to the party of a Colonel somebody, in a Dublin paper. 



48 6 HE IRISH SA'E TCH B O OK. 

because Mr. Smith is agent in place of Mr. Jones ? Is he a 
child, that won't work unless the schoolmaster be at hand ? or 
are we to suppose, with the " Repealers," that the cause of all 
this degradation and misery is the intolerable tyranny of the 
sister country, and the pain which poor Ireland has been made 
to endure ? This is very well at the Corn Exchange, and 
among patriots after dinner ; but, after all, granting the griev- 
ance of the franchise (though it may not be unfair to presume 
'that a man who has not strength of mind enough to mend his 
own breeches or his own windows will always be the tool of 
one party or another), there is no Inquisition set up in the 
country: the law tries to defend the people as much as they 
will allow ; the odious tithe has even been whisked off from 
their shoulders to the landlords' ; they may live pretty much 
as they like. Is it not too monstrous to howl about English * 
tyranny and suffering Ireland, and call for a Stephen's Green 
Parliament to make the country quiet and the people indus- 
trious ? The people are not politically worse treated than 
their neighbors in England. The priests and the landlords, if 
they chose to co-operate, might do more for the country now 
than any kings or laws could. What you want here is not a 
Catholic or Protestant party, but an Irish party. 

In the midst of these reflections, and by what the reader 
will doubtless think a blessed interruption, we came in sight of 
the town of Ballinasloe and its " gash-lamps," which a fellow- 
passenger did not fail to point out with admiration. The road- 
menders, however, did not appear to think that light was by 
any means necessary : for, having been occupied, in the morn- 
ing, in digging a fine hole upon the highway, previous to some 
alterations to be effected there, they had left their work at sun- 
down, without any lamp to warn coming travellers of the hole 
— which we only escaped by a wonder, The papers have 
much such another story. In the Galway and Ballinasloe 
coach a horse on the road suddenly fell down and died ; the 
coachman drove his coach unicorn-fashion into town ; and, as 
for the dead horse, of course he left it on the road at the 
place where it fell, and where another coach coming up was up- 
set over it, bones broken, passengers maimed, coach smashed. 
By heavens ! the tyranny of England is unendurable ; and 
I have no doubt it had a hand in upsetting that coach- 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 487 



CHAPTER yi±\l\, 

BALLINASLOE TO DUBLIN. 

During the cattle-fair the celebrated town of Ballmasloe is 
thronged with farmers from all parts of the kingdom-:-the cattle 
being picturesquely exhibited in the park of the noble proprietor 
of the town, Lord Clancarty. As it was not fair-time the town 
did not seem particularly busy, nor was there much to remark 
in it, expept a church, and a magnificent lunatic asylum, that 
lies outside the town on the Dublin road, and is as handsome 
and stately a sa palace. I think the beggars were more plen- 
teous and more loathsome here than almost anywhere. To one 
hideous wretch I was obliged to give money to go away, which 
he did for a moment, only to obtrude his horrible face directly 
afterwards half eaten away with disease. " A penny for the 
sake of poor little Mery," said another woman, who had a baby 
sleeping on her withered breast ; and how can any one who has 
a little Mery at home resist such an appeal ? " Pity the poor 
blind man ! " roared a respectably dressed grenadier of a fellow. 
I told him to go to the gentleman with a red neck-cloth and fur 
cap (a young buck from Trinity College) — to whom the blind 
man with much simplicity immediately stepped over : and as 
for the rest of the beggars, what pen or pencil could describe 
their hideous leering flattery, their cringing, swindling humor ! 

The inn, like the town, being made to accommodate the 
periodical crowds of visitors who attended the fair, presented 
in their absence rather a faded and desolate look ; and in spite 
of the live stock for which the place is famous, the only portion 
of their produce which I could get to my share, after twelve 
hours' fasting and an hour's bell-ringing and scolding, was one 
very lean mutton-chop and one very small damp kidney, brought 
in by an old tottering waiter to a table spread in a huge black 
coffee-room, dimly lighted by one little jet of gas. 

As this only served very faintly to light up the above ban- 
quet, the waiter, upon remonstrance, proceeded to light the 
other ^^^/ but the lamp was sulky, and upon this attempt to 
force it, as it were, refused to act altogether, and went out. The 
big room was then accommodated with a couple of yellow mut- 
ton-candles. There was a neat, handsome, correct young Eng- 
lish officer warming his slippers at the fire, and opposite him 



48S 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



sat a worthy gentleman, with a glass of " mingled materials/' 
discoursing to him in a very friendly and confidential way. 

As I don't know the gentleman's name, and as it is not at 
all improbable, from the situation in which he was, that he has 
quite forgotten the night's conversation, I hope there will be no 
breach of confidence in recalling some part of it. The speaker 
was dressed in deep black — worn, however, with that degage2\t\ 
peculiar to the votaries of Bacchus, or that nameless god, off- 
spring of Bacchus and Ceres, who may have invented the noble 
liquor called whiskey. It was fine to see the easy folds in 
which his neck-cloth confined a shirt-collar moist with the gener- 
ous drops that trickled from the chin above, — its little per- 
centage upon the punch. There was a fine dashing black-satin 
waistcoat that called for its share, and generously disdained to _ 
be buttoned. I think this is the only specimen I have seen yeti 
of the personage still so frequently described in the Irish novels \ 
— the careless drinking squire — the Irish Will Whimble. 

" Sir," says he, " as I was telling you before this gentleman 
came in (from Wesport, I preshume, sir, by the mail .? and my 
service to you !), the butchers in Tchume (Tuam) — where I live, j 
and shall be happy to see you and give you a shakedown, a cut I 
of mutton, and the use of as good a brace of pointers as ever 
you shot over — the butchers say to me, whenever I look in at 
their shops and ask for a joint of meat — they say : ' Take down 
that quarther o' mutton, boy ; it's no use weighing it for Mr. 
Bodkin. He can tell with an eye what's the weight of it to an 
,€unce ! ' And so, sir, I can ; and I'd make a bet to go into 
any market in Dublin, Tchume, Ballinasioe, where you please, 
and just by looking at the meat decide its weight." 

At the pause, during which the gentleman here designated 
Bodkin drank off his " Materials," the young officer said gravely 
that this was a very rare and valuable accomplishment, and 
thanked him for the invitation to Tchume. 

The honest gentleman proceeded with his personal memoirs ; 
and (with a charming modesty that authenticated his tale, while 
it interested his hearers for the teller) he called for a fresh 
tumbler, and began discoursing about horses. " Them I don't 
know," says he, confessing the fact at once ; " or, if I do, I've 
been always so unlucky with them that it's as good as if I 
didn't. 

" To give you an idea of my ill-fortune : Me brother-^n-laW 
Burke once sent me three colts of his to sell at this very fair of' 
Ballinasioe, and for all I could do I could only get a bid for 
one of 'em, and sold her for sixteen pounds. And d'ye know 



■I 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 48^ 

rvhat that mare was, sir ? " says Mr. Bodkin, giving a thump 
;hat made the spoon jump out of the punch-glass for fright. 
•' D'ye know who she was ? she was Water-Wagtail, sir, — Water- 
Wagtail ! She won fourteen cups and plates in Ireland before 
she went to Liverpool ; and you know what she did there V 
(We said, " Oh ! of course.") " Well, sir, the man who bought 
her from me sold her for four hunder' guineas ; and in Eng- 
land she fetched eight hunder' pounds. 

•' Another of them very horses, gentlemen (Tim, some hot 
wather — screeching hot, you divil — and a sthroke of the limin) 
— another of them horses that I was refused fifteen pound for, 
me brother-in-law sould to Sir Rufford Bufford for a hunder'- 
and-fifty guineas. Wasn't that luck ? 

" Well, sir. Sir Rufford gives Burke his bill at six months, 
and don't pay it when it come jue. A pretty pickle Tom Burke 
was in, as I leave ye to fancy, for he'd paid away the bill, 
which he thought as good as goold ; and sure it ought to be, 
for Sir Rufford had come of age since the bill was drawn, and 
before it was due, and, as I needn't tell you, had slipped into 
a very handsome property. 

'• On the protest of the bill, Burke goes in a fury to Gres- 
ham's in Sackville Street, where the baronet was living, and 
(would ye believe it ? ) the latter says he doesn't intend to meet 
the bill, on the score that he was a minor when he gave it. 
On which Burke was in such a rage that he took a horsewhip 
and vowed he'd beat the baronet to a jelly, and post him in 
every club in Dublin, and publish every circumstance of the 
transaction." 

"It does seem rather a queer one," says one of Mr. Bod- 
kin's hearers. 

" Queer indeed : but that's not it, you see ; for Sir Rufford 
is as honorable a man as ever lived ; and after this quarrel he 
paid Burke his money, and they've been warm friends ever 
since. But what I want to show ye is our infernal luck. Three 
mo7iths before., Sir Rufford had sold that very horse for three 
hunder' guineas^ 

The worthy gentleman had just ordered in a fresh tumbler 
of his favorite liquor, when he wished him good-night, and 
slept by no means the worse, because the bedroom candle was 
carried by one of the prettiest young chambermaids possible. 

Next morning, surrounded by a crowd of beggars more 
filthy, hideous, and importunate than any I think in the most 
favored towns of the south, we set off, a coach-load, for Dublin. 
A clergyman, a guard, a Scotch farmer, a butcher, a booksel- 



490 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



ler's hack, a lad bound for Maynooth and another for Trinity, 
made a varied, pleasant party enough, where each, according 
to his lights, had something to say. 

i have seldom seen a more dismal and uninteresting road 
than that which we now took, and which brought us through 
the '■ old, inconvenient, ill-built, and ugly town of Athlone.'j 
The painter would find here, however, some good subjects f( 
his sketch-book, in spite of the commination of the Guid 
book. Here, too, great improvements are taking place for the 
Shannon navigation, which will render the town not so incon- 
venient as at present it is stated to be ; and hard by lies a lit-i' 
tie village that is known and loved by all the world wher 
English is spoken. It is called Lishoy, but its real name i 
Auburn, and it gave birth to one Noll Goldsmith, whom Mi 
Boswell was in the habit of despising very heartily. At tin 
Quaker town of Moate, the butcher and the farmer droppe( 
off, the clergyman went inside, and their places were filled b; 
four Maynoothians, whose vacation was just at an end. Oni 
of them, a freshman, was inside the coach with the clergyman 
and told him, with rather a long face, of the dismal discipline q 
his college. They are not allowed to quit the gates (except oi 
general walks) ; they are expelled if they read a newspaper 
and they begin term with " a retreat " of a week, which tim( 
they are made to devote to silence, and, as it is supposed, t( 
devotion and meditation. 

I must say the young fellows drank plenty of whiskey or 
the road, to prepare them for their year's" abstinence ; an( 
when at length arrived in the miserable village of Maynooth, 
determined not to go into college that night, but to devote the 
evening to "' a lark." They were simjDle, kind-hearted young 
men, sons of farmers or tradesmen seemingly ; and, as is al- 
ways the case here, except among some of the gentry,- very 
gentlemanlike and pleasing in manners. Their talk was of 
this companion and that; how one was in rhetoric, and another 
in logic, and a third had got his curacy. Wait for a while ; 
and with the happy system pursued within the walls of their 
college, those smiling, good-humored faces will come out with 
a scowl, and downcast eyes that seem afraid to look the world 
in the face. When the time comes for them to take leave of 
yonder dismal-looking barracks, they will be men no longer, 
but bound over to the church, body and soul : their fre 
thoughts chained down and kept in darkness, their hones' 
affections mutilated. Well, I hope they will be* happy to-nigh 
at any rate, and talk and laugh to their hearts' content. The 



I 



THE IRISH SHE TCH B O OK. 49 1 

or freshman, whose big chest is carried off by the porter 
ncler to the inn, has but twelve hours more of liearty, natu- 
1, human Hfe. To-morrow, they will begin their work upon 
m ; cramping his mind, and biting his tongue, and firing and 
,tting at his heart, — breaking him to pull the church chariot, 
h ! why didn't he stop at home, and dig" potatoes and get 
lildren ? 

Part of the drive from Maynooth to Dublin is exceedingly 
etty : you are carried through Leixlip, Lucan, Chapelizod, 
k1 by scores of parks and villas, until the gas-lamps come in 

ht. Was there ever a cockney that was not glad to see them ; 
id did not prefer the sight of them, in his heart, to the best 
ke or mountain ever invented ? Pat the waiter comes jump- 
down to the car and says, " Welcome back, sir ! " and 
Listles the trunk into the queer little bedroom, with all the 
Drdial hospitality imaginable. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

TWO DAYS IN WICKLOW. 

The little tour we have just been taking has been performed, 
lot only by myriads of the "car-drivingest, tay-drinkingest, say- 
)athingest people in the world," the inhabitants of the city of 
Dublin, but also by all the tourists who have come to discover 
his country for the benefit of the English nation. "Look 
iere ! " says the ragged, bearded genius of a guide at the Seven 
Llhurches. "This is the spot which Mr. Henry Inglis particu- 
arly admired, and said it was exactly like Norway. Many's 
.he song I've heard Mr. Sam Lover sing here — a pleasant 
'gentleman entirely. Have you seen my picture that's taken off 
n Mrs. Hall's book ? All the strangers know me by it, though 
t makes me much cleverer than I am." Similar tales has he 
3f Mr. Barrow, and the Transatlantic Willis, and of'Crofton 
Croker, who has been everywhere. 

The guide's remarks concerning the works Oi these gentle- 
men inspired me, I must confess, with considerable disgust and 
jealousy. A plague take them ! what remains for me to dis- 
cover after the gallant adventurers in the service of Paternoster 
Row have examined every rock, lake, and ruin of the district, 
exhausted it of all its legends, and " invented new " most likely, 



492 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



1 



as their daring genius prompted ? Hence it follows that 
description of the two days' jaunt must of necessity be shori 
lest persons who have read former accounts should be led 1 
refer to the same, and make comparisons which might possib 
be unfavorable to the present humble pages. 

Is there anything new to be said regarding the journey 
In the first place, there's the railroad : it's no longer than tl 
railroad to Greenwich, to be sure, and almost as well knowr 
but has it been done ? that's the question ; or has anybody di 
covered the dandies on the railroad ? 

After wondering at the beggars and carmen of Dublin, tl; 
stranger can't help admiring another vast and numerous cla;: 
of inhabitants of the city — namely, the dandies. Such a nun 
ber of smartly-dressed young fellows I don't think any to\\ 
possesses : no, not Paris, where the young shopmen, with spui 
and stays, may be remarked strutting abroad on fete-days ; m 
London, where on Sundays, in the Park, you see thousands i 
this cheap kind of aristocracy parading ; nor Liverpool, famoi 
for the breed of commercial dandies, desk and counter D'Orsa] 
and cotton and sugar-barrel Brummels, and whom one remari 
pushing on to business with a brisk determined air. All tl 
above races are only to be encountered on holidays, except l 
those persons whose affairs take them to shops, docks, or cour 
ing-houses, where these fascinating young fellows labor durir 
the week. 

But the Dublin breed of dandies is quite distinct from thoj 
of the various cities above named, and altogether superior: f(J 
they appear every day, and all day long, not once a wee 
merely, and have an original and splendid character an 
appearance of their own, very hard to describe, though no doul 
every traveller, as well as myself, has admired and observe 
it. They assume a sort of military and ferocious look, n( 
observable in other cheap dandies, except in Paris perhaps no 
and then ; and are to be remarked not so much for the splend( 
of their ornaments as for the profusion of them. Thus, f( 
instance, a hat which is worn straight over the two eyes cos 
very likely more than one which hangs upon one ear ; a gre; 
oily bush of hair to balance the hat (otherwise the head n 
doubt would fall hopelessly on one side) is even more econoir 
cal than a crop which requires the barber's scissors oft-tim.ej 
also a tuft on the chin may be had at a small expense of bear; 
grease by persons of a proper age ; and although big pins a 
the fashion, I am bound to say I have never seen so many 
so big as here. Large agate marbles or "taws " globes tern 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 493 

and celestial, pawnbrokers' balls, — I cannot finti compari- 
; large enough for these wonderful ornaments of the person, 
es also should be mentioned, which are sold very splendid, 
. gold or silver heads, for a shilling on the Quays ; and the 
dy not uncommonly finishes off with a horn quizzing-glass, 
;h being stuck in one eye contracts the brows and gives a 
:e determined look to the whole countenance, 
[n idleness at least these young men can compete with the 
.test lords ; and the wonder is, how the city can support so 
y of them, or they themselves ; how they manage to spend 
X time : who gives them money to ride hacks in the " Phay- 

on field and race days ; to have boats at Kingstown dur- 
the summer ; and to be crowding the railway-coaches all the 
long ? Cars go whirling about all day, bearing squads of 
1. You see them sauntering at all the railway-stations in 

numbers, and jumping out of the carriages, as the trains 
e up, and greeting other dandies with that rich large brogue 
:h some actor ought to make known to the English public : 
.jing the biggest, richest, and coarsest of all the brogues of 
and. 

t think these dandies are the chief objects which arrest the 
nger's attention as he travels on the Kingstown railroad, 
. I have always been so much occupied in watching and 
dering at them as scarcely to have leisure to look at any- 
g else during the pretty little ride of twenty minutes so 
*ved by every Dublin cockney. The waters of the bay wash 
iany places the piers on which the railway is bailt, and you 
the calm stretch of water beyond, and the big purple hill 
lowth, and the lighthouses, and the jetties, and the shipping, 
terday was a boat-race, (I don't know how many scores of 
1 take place during the season,) and you may be sure there 
3 tens of thousands of the dandies to look on. There had 
1 boat-races the two days previous : before that, had been a 
I- day — before that, three days of garrison races — to-day, 
lorrow, and the day after, there are races at Howth. There 
'ns some sameness in the sports, but everybody goes : every- 
V is never tired ; and then, I suppose, comes the punch-party, 
the song in the evening — the same old pleasures, and the 
e old songs the next day, and so on to the end. As for the 
t-race, I saw two little boats in the distance tugging away 
dear life — the beach and piers swarming with spectators, 
bay full of small yachts and innumerable row-boats, and in 
midst of the assemblage a convict-ship lying ready for sail, 
\ a black mass of poor wretches on her deck — who, too^ 
e eager for pleasure. 



494 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 



Who is not, in this country? Walking away from the pSiliol 
and King George's column, you arrive upon rows after rows |i(i« 
pleasure-houses, whither all Dublin flocks during the summi 
time — for every one must have his sea-bathing ; and they 
that the country houses to the west of the town are empty, 
to be had for very small prices, while for those on the co 
especially towards Kingstown, there is the readiest sale at la 
prices. I have paid frequent visits to one, of which the ren 
as great as that of a tolerable London house ; and there se 
to be others suited to all purses : for instance, there are lo 
/lines of two-roomed houses, stretching far back and away froMt 
the sea, accommodating, doubtless, small commercial men, q^ll 
small families, or some of those travelling dandies we have ju^;:' 
been talking about, and whose costume is so cheap and sjiio 
splendid. \ 

A two-horse car, which will accommodate twelve, or wi|ii( 
condescend to receive twenty passengers, starts from the ra 
way station for Bray, running along the coast for the chief p 
of the journey, though you have but few views of the sea, 
account of intervening woods and hills. The whole of th 
country is covered with handsome villas and their gardens, anil 
pleasure-grounds. There are round many of the houses parlg* 
of some extent, and always of considerable beauty, among th( 
trees of which the road winds. New churches are likewise t( 1 
be seen in various places ; built like the poor-houses, that an ■ 
likewise everywhere springing up, pretty much upon one plaB 
— a sort of bastard or Vauxhall Gothic — resembling no archii| 
tecture of any age previous to that when Horace Walpol 
invented the Castle of Otranto and the other monstrosity upojj 
Strawberry Hill : though it must be confessed that those on t' 
Bray line are by no means so imaginative. Well, what matte 
say you, that the churches be ugly, if the truth is preacb 
within ? Is it not fair, however, to say that Beauty is the tru 
too, of its kind "i and why should it not be cultivated as well 
other truth ? Why build these hideous barbaric temples, wh 
at the expense of a little study and taste beautiful structur 
might be raised .? 

After leaving Bray, with its pleasant bay, and pleasa: 
river, and pleasant inn, the little Wicklow tour may be said to 
commence properly ; and, as that romantic and beautiful country 
has been described many times in familiar terms, our only 
chance is to speak thereof in romantic and beautiful language, 
such as no other writer can possibly have employed. 

We rang at the gate of the steward's lodge and said, " Grant 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. ^05 

a pass, we pray, to see the parks of Powerscourt, and to 
lold the brown deer upon the grass, and the cool shadows 
ier the whispering trees." 

But the steward's son answered, "You njiay not see the 
fks of Powerscourt, for the lord of the castle comes home, 
1 we expect him daily." So, wondering at this reply, but not 
lerstandingthe same, we took leave of the son of the steward 
1 said, " No doubt Powerscourt is not fit to see. Have we 

seen parks in England, my brother, and shall we break our 
irts that this Irish one hath its gates closed to us ? " 

Then the car-boy said, " My lords, the park is shut, but the 

terfall runs for every man ; will it please you to see the water- 
? " " Boy," we replied, " we have seen many waterfalls ; 
ertheless, lead on ! " And the boy took his pipe out of his 
)uth and belabored the ribs of his beast. 

And the horse made believe, as it were, to trot, and jolted 
s ardent travellers ; and we passed the green trees of Tinne- 
Qch, which the grateful Irish nation bought and consecrated 
the race of Grattan ; and we said, " What nation will spend 
;y thousand pounds for our benefit ? " and we wished we 
ght get it ; and we passed on. The birds were, meanwhile, 
anting concerts in the woods ; and the sun was double-gild- 
l the golden corn. 

And we came to a hill, which was steep and long of descent ; 
d the car-boy said, " My lords, I may never descend this hill 
ith safety to your honors' bones ; for my horse is not sure of 
ot, and loves to kneel in the highway. Descend therefore, 
id I will await your return on the top of the hill." 

So we descended, and one grumbled greatly; but the other 
lid, " Sir, be of good heart ! the way is pleasant, and the foot- 
an will not weary as he travels it." And we went through 
le swinging gates of the park, where the harvestmen sat at 
leir potatoes — a mealy meal. 

The way w^as not short, as the companion said, but still it 
as a pleasant way to walk. Green stretches of grass were 
[lere, and a forest nigh at hand. It was but September : yet 
le autumn had already begun to turn the green trees into red ; 
nd the ferns that were waving underneath the trees were red- 
lened and fading too. And as Dr. Jones's boys of a Saturday 
iisport in the meadows after school-hours, so did the little 
jlouds run races over the waving grass. And as grave ushers 
yho look on smiling at the sports of these little ones, so stood 
he old trees around the green, whispering and nodding to one 
mother. 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

Irishry beneath; but no one seemed to move. Then,*] 
brought forward Jack Pudding, and had a dialogue with h 
the jocularity of which, by heavens ! made the heart ach( 
hear. We had determined, at least, to go to the play bef 
that, but the dialogue was too much : we were obliged to w 
away, unable to face that dreadful Jack Pudding, and he 
the poor manager shouting still for many hours through i 
night, and the drums thumping vain invitations to the peo] 
O unhappy children of the Hibernian Thespis ! it is my be 
that they must have eaten the learned pig that night 
supper. 

It was Sunday morning when we left the little inn at Roui 
wood : the people were flocking in numbers to church, on c 
and pillions, neat, comfortable, and well-dressed. We saw 
this country more health, more beauty, and more shoes thai 
have remarked in any quarter. That famous resort of sig 
seers, the Devil's Glen, lies at a few miles' distance from 
little village ; and, having gone on the car as near to the s's 
as the road permitted, we made across the fields — boggy, stc 
ill-tilled fields they were — for about a mile, at the end of whi 
walk we found ourselves on the brow of the ravine that 1 
received so ugly a name. 

Is there a legend about the place ? No doubt for this,; 
for almost every other natural curiosity in Ireland, there 
some tale of monk, saint, fairy, or devil ; but our guide on 
present day was a barrister from Dublin, who did not deal 1 
fictions by any means so romantic, and the history, whatever 
was, remained untold. Perhaps the little breechesless cicerCj 
who offered himself would have given us the story, but we c 
missed the urchin with scorn, and had to find our own -^ 
through bush and bramble down to the entrance of the gulh'. 

Here we came on a cataract, which looks very big in Mess 
Curry's pretty little Guide-book (that every traveller to Wio 
low will be sure to have in his pocket) ; but the waterfall 
this shining Sabbath morning, was disposed to labor as li| 
as possible, and indeed is a spirit of a very humble, ordin| 
sort. 

But there is a ravine of a mile and a half, through whicl: 
river runs roaring (a lady who keeps the gate will not obJ€ 
to receive a gratuity) — there is a ravine, or Devil's glen, whi 
forms a delightful wild walk, and where a Methuselah of i, 
landscape-painter might find studies for all his life long. I 
sorts of foliage and color, all sorts of delightful caprices 
light and shadow — the river tumbling and frothing amidst tl 



\\ 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



497 



Ig Hill. Here you see, in the midst of the loneliness, a 
n-looking barrack, that was erected when, after the Rebel- 
it was necessary for 5ome time to occupy this most re- 
lious country : and a church, looking equally dismal, a lean- 
king sham Gothic building, in the midst of this green desert, 
road to Luggala, whither we were bound, turns off the 
Hill, up another Hill, which seems still longer and 
bper, inasmuch as it was ascended perforce on foot, and 
:r lonely boggy moorlands, enlivened by a huge gray boulder 
mped here and there, and comes, one wonders how, to the 
)t. Close to this hill of Slievebuck, is marked in the maps 
istrict called " the uninhabited country," and these stones 
bably fell at a period of time when not only this district, 
L all the world was uninhabited, — and in some convulsion of 
; neighboring mountains this and other enormous rocks were 
;t abroad. 

From behind one of them, or out of the ground somehow, 

we went up the hill, sprang little ragged guides, who are al- 

ys lurking about in search of stray pence from tourists ; and 

had three or four of such at our back by the time we were 

the top of the hill. Almost the first sight we saw was a 

art coach-and-four, with a loving wedding-party within, and 

enteel valet and lady's-maid without. I wondered had they 

en bur}dng their modest loves in the uniniiabited district ? 

it presently, from the top of the hill, I saw the place in which 

ir honeymoon had been passed : nor could any pair of lovers, 

r a pious hermit bent on retirement from the world, have 

iected a more sequestered spot. 

Standing by a big shining granite stone on the hill-top, we 
sked immediately down upon Lough Tay — a little round lake 
half a mile in length, which lay beneath us as black as a 
ol of ink — a high, crumbling, white-sided mountain falling 
ruptly into it on the side opposite to us, with a huge ruin of 
attered rocks at its base. Northwards, we could see between 
ountains a portion of the neighboring lake of Lough Dan — 
hich, too, was dark, though the Annamoe river, which con- 
icts the two lakes, lay coursing through the greenest possible 
its and shining as bright as silver. Brilliant green shores, 
o, come gently down to the southern side of Lough Tay ; 
trough these runs another river, with a small rapid or fall, 
hich makes a music for the lake ; and here, amidst beautiful 
oods, lies a villa, where the four horses, the groom and valet, 
iC postilions, and the young couple had, no doubt, been hiding 
lemselves. 



** 



498 , THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 

Hereabouts, the owner of the villa, Mr. Latouche, has^ 
great grazing establishment ; and some herd-boys, no dout 
seeing strangers on the hill, thought proper that the cattl 
should stray that way, that they might drive them back agai?; 
and parenthetically ask the travellers for money, — everybod 
asks travellers for money, as it seems. Next day, admiring in i 
laborer's arms a little child — his master's son, who could no 
speak — the laborer, his he-nurse, spoke for him, and demandoie 
a little sixpence to buy the child apples. One grows not 
little callous to this sort of beggary : and the only one of oui, 
numerous young guides who got a reward was the raggedest q* 
them. He and his companions had just come from school, hi 
said, — not a Government school, but a private one, where th^x 
paid. I asked how much, — " Was it a penny a week .-' " " Noc 
not a penny a week, but so much at the end of the year.' 
" Was it a barrel of meal, or a few stone of potatoes, or som^i 
thing of that sort ? " " Yes ; something of that sort." 

The something must, however, have been a very sm 
something on the poor lad's part. He was one of four you 
ones, who lived with their mother, a widow. He had nowork|- 
he could get no work ; nobody had work. His mother had i 
cabin with no land — not a perch of land, no potatoes — nothing: 
but the cabin. How did they live ? — the mother knitted stoclJ 
ings. I asked had she any stockings at home .'* — the boy saici 
"No." How did he live? — he lived how he could; and wi 
gave him threepence, with w^hich, in delight, he went boundin|i 
off to the poor mother. Gracious heavens ! what a history tc 
hear, told by a child looking quite cheerful as he told it, and a; 
if the story was quite a common one. And a common one, to 
it is • and God forgive us. 

Here is another, and of a similar low kind, but rathe 
pleasanter. We asked the car-boy how much he earned. H 
said, " Seven shillings a week, and his chances " — which, in th 
summer season, from the number of tourists who are jolted i 
his car, must be tolerably good — eight or nine shillings a wee 
more, probably. But, he said, in winter his master did not 
hire him for the car ; and he was obliged to look for work 
elsewhere : as for saving, he never had saved a shilling in his 
life. 

We asked him was he married ? and he said, No, but he was 
as good as 7Jiarried ; for he had an old another and four little 
brothers to keep, and six mouths to feed, and to dress himself 
decent to drive the gentlemen. Was not the "as good as 
married " a pretty expression ? and might not some of what are 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



499 



ailed their betters learn a little good from these simple poor 
reatures ? There's many a young fellow who sets up in the 
\;orld would think it rather hard to have four brothers to sup- 
)ort ; and I have heard more than one genteel Christian pining 
)ver five hundred a year. A few such may read this, perhaps • 
et them think of the Irish widow with the four children and 
lothijLg, and at least be more contented with their port and* 
herry and their leg of mutton. 

This brings us at once to the subject of dinner and the little 
/illage, Roundwood, which was reached by this time, lying a 
"ew miles off from the lakes, and reached by a road not par- 
icularly remarkable for any picturesqueness in beauty ; though 
^ou pass through a simple, pleasing landscape, always agreeable 
IS a repose, I think, after viewing a sight so beautiful as those 
mountain lakes we have just quitted. All the hills up which 
,ve had panted had imparted a fierce sensation of hunger ; and 
t was nobly decreed that we should stop in the middle of the 
treet of Roundwood, impartially between the two hotels, and 
olemnly decide upon a resting-place after having inspected the 
larders and bedrooms of each. 

And here, as an impartial writer, I must say that the hotel 
of Dffr. Wheatly possesses attractions which few men can resist, 
in the shape of two very handsome young ladies his daughters ; 
lose faces, were they but painted on his signboard, instead 
bf the mysterious piece which ornaments it, would infallibly 
draw tourists into the house, thereby giving the opposition inn 
of Murphy not the least chance of custom. 

A. landlord's daughters in England, inhabiting a little coun- 
try inn, would be apt to lay the cloth for the traveller, and 
their respected father would bring in the first dish of the 
dinner ; but this arrangement is never known in Ireland : we 
scarcely ever see the cheering countenance of my landlord. 
And as for the young ladies of Roundwood, I am bound to 
say that no young persons in Baker Street could be more gen- 
teel ; and that our bill, when it was brought the next morning, 
was WTitten in as pretty and fashionable a lady's hand as ever 
was formed in the most elegant finishing school at Pimlico. 

Of the dozen houses of the village, the half seem to be 
houses of entertainment. A green common stretches before 
these, with its rural accompaniments of geese, pigs, and idlers ; 
a park and plantation at the end of the village, and plenty of 
trees round about it, give it a happy, comfortable, English 
look ; which is, to my notion, the best compliment that can be 
paid to a hamlet : for where, after all, are villages so pretty ? 



500 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



Here, rather to one's wonder — for the district was not 
thickly enough populated to encourage dramatic exhibitions — 
a sort of theatre was erected on the common, a ragged cloth 
covering the spectators and the actors, and the former (if there 
were any) obtaining admittance through two doors on the stage 
in front, marked " pit & galery." Why should the word 
itot be spelt with one l as with two ? 

The entrance to the "pit" was stated to be threepence, 
and to the " galery " twopence. We heard the drums and 
pipes of the orchestra as we sat at dinner : it seemed to be a 
good opportunity to examine Irish humor of a peculiar sort, 
and we promised ourselves a pleasant evening in the pit. 

But although the drums began to beat at half-past six, and 
a crowd of young people formed round the ladder at that hour, 
to whom the manager of the troop addressed the most ve- 
hement invitations to enter, nobody seemed to be inclined to 
mount the steps : for the fact most likely was, that not one of 
the poor fellows possessed the requisite twopence which would 
induce the fat old lady who sat by it to fling open the gallery 
door. At one time I thought of offering a half a crown for a 
purchase of tickets for twenty, and so at once bene'fiting the 
manager and the crowd of ragged urchins who stood wistfftlly 
without his pavilion ; but it seemed ostentatious, and we had 
not the courage to face the tall man in the great coat gesticu- 
lating and shouting in front of the stage, and make the prop- 
osition. 

Why not ? It would have given the company potatoes at 
least for supper, and made a score of children happy. They 
would have seen " the learned pig who spells your name, the 
feats of manly activity, the wonderful Italian vaulting;" and 
they would have heard the comic songs by "your humble 
servant." 

"Your humble servant" was the head of the troop: a long 
man, with a broad accent, a yellow top coat, and a piteous 
lean face. What a speculation was this poor fellow's ! he 
must have a company of at least a dozen to keep. There 
were three girls in trousers, who danced in front of the stage, 
in Polish caps, tossing their arms about to the tunes of three 
musicianers ; there was a page, two young tragedy-actors, and 
a clown ; there was the fat old woman at the gallery door 
waiting for the twopences ; there was the Jack Pudding ; and 
it was evident that there must have been some one within, or 
else who would take care of the learned pig .> 

The poor manager stood in front, and shouted to the little 



496 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

Purple mountains rose before us in front, and we began- 
presently to hear a noise and roaring afar off — not a fierce 
roaring, but one deep and calm, like to the respiration of the. 
great sea, as he lies basking on the sands in the sunshine. 

And we came soon to a little hillock of green, which was 
standing before a huge mountain of purple black, and there 
were white clouds over the mountains, and some trees waving: 
on the hillock, and between the trunks of them we saw the : 
waters of the waterfall descending; and there was a snob o.v 
a rock, who stood and examined the same. 

Then we approached the water, passing the clump of oak 
trees. The waters were white, and the cliffs which they var- 
nished were purple. But those round about were gray, tall, and 
gay with blue shadows, and ferns, heath, and rusty-colored 
funguses sprouting here and there in the same. But in the 
ravine where the waters fell, roaring as it were with the fall, 
the rocks were dark, and the foam of the cataract was of a 
yellow color. And we stood, and were silent, and wondered. 
And still the trees continued to wave, and the waters to roar 
and tumble, and the sun to shine, and the fresh wind to blow. 

And we stood and looked : and said in our hearts it was. 
beautiful, and bethought us how shall all this be set down in 
types and ink ? (for our trade is to write books and sell the 
same — a chapter for a guinea, a line for a penny) ; and the 
waterfall roared in answer, " For shame, O vain man ! think 
not of thy books and of thy pence now ; but look on, and won- 
der, and be silent. Can types or ink describe my beauty,, 
though aided by thy small wit t I am made for thee to praise 
and wonder at : be content, and cherish thy wonder. It is. 
enough that thou hast seen a great thing : is it needful that 
thou shouldst prate of all thou hast seen t " 

So we came away silently, and walked through the park 
without looking back. And there was a man at the gate, who 
opened it and seemed to say, " Give me a little sixpence." But 
we gave nothing, and walked up the hill, which was sore to 
climb ; and on the summit found the car-boy, who was lolling 
on his cushions and smoking, as happy as a lord. 

Quitting the waterfall at Powerscourt (the grand style in 
which it has been described was adopted in order that the 
reader, who has probably read other descriptions of the spot, 
might have at least something new in this account of it), we 
speedily left behind us the rich and wooded tract of country 
about Powerscourt, and came to a bleak tract, which, perhaps 
by way of contrast with so much natural wealth, is not un- 
pleasing, and beo:an ascending what is very properly called the 



C02 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

boulders — " raucum per laevia murmur saxa ciens," and \ 
chorus of 150,000 birds (there might be more), hopping, twiti 
tering, singing under the clear cloudless Sabbath scene, mak( 
this walk one of the most delightful that can be taken ; anc 
indeed I hope there is no harm in saying that you may get as 
much out of an hour's walk there as out of the best hour's ex 
tempore preaching. But this was as a salvo to our conscience 
for not being at church. 

Here, however, was a long aisle, arched gothically overhead 
in a much better taste than is seen in some of those dismal new 
churches ; and, by way of painted glass, the sun lighting ifj: 
multitudes of various-colored leaves, and the birds for choris- 
ters, and the river by way of organ, and in it stones enough tc 
make a whole library of sermons. No man can walk in such a; 
place without feeling grateful, and grave, and humble ; and 
without thanking heaven for it as he comes away. And,, walk-, 
ing and musing in this free, happy place, one could not helpi 
thinking of a million and a half of brother cockneys shut up in 
their huge prison (the tread-mill for the day being idle), and 
told by some legislators that relaxation is sinful, that works of 
art are abominations except on week-days, and that their pro- 
per place of resort is a dingy tabernacle, where a loud-voiced 
man is howling about hell-fire in bad grammar. Is not this: 
beautiful world, too, a part of our religion ? Yes, truly, in 
whatever way my Lord John Russell may vote ; and it is to 
be learned without having recourse to any professor at any 
Bethesda, Ebenezer, or Jerusalem : there can be no mistake 
about it ; no terror, no bigoted dealing of damnation to 
one's neighbor : it is taught without false emphasis or vain; 
spouting on the preacher's part — how should there be sucW 
with such a preacher ? 

This wild onslaught upon sermons and preachers needs per- 
haps- an explanation : for which purpose we must whisk backs 
out of the Devil's Glen (improperly so' named) to Dublin, andl 
to this day week, when, at this very time, I heard one of the 
first preachers of the city deliver a sermon that lasted for an 
hour and twenty minutes — time enough to walk up the Glen 
and back, and remark a thousand delightful things by the way. 

Mr. G 's church (though there would be no harm in 

mentioning the gentleman's name, for a more conscientious and 
excellent man, as it is said, cannot be) is close by the Custom 
House in Dublin, and crowded morning and evening with his 
admirers. The service was beautifully read by him, and the 
audience joined in the responses, and in the psalms and 



THE IRISH SKE 1 CII B O OK. 503 

hymns,* witli a fervor which is very unusual in Enghiud. Then 
came the sermon ; and what more can be said of it than thaf it 
was extempore, and lasted for an hour and twenty minutes ? 
The orator never failed once for a word, so amazing is his 
practice ; thous^h, as a stranger to this kind of exercise, I could 
not help 'trembling for the performer, as one has for Madame 
Saqui on the slack-rope, in the midst of a blaze of rockets and 
squibs, expecting every minute she must go over. But the 
artist was too skilled for that ; and after some tremendous 
bound of a metaphor, in the midst of which you expect he must 
tumble neck and heels, and be engulfed in the dark abyss of 
nonsense, down he was sure to come, in a most graceful attitude 
too, in the midst of a fluttering " Ah ! " from a thousand won- 
dering people. 

But I declare solemnly that when I came to try and recol^ 
lect of what the .exhibition consisted, and give an account of 
the sermon at dinner that evening, it was quite impossible to 
remember a word of it ; although, to do the orator justice, he 
repeated many of his opinions a great number of times over. 
Thus, if he had to discourse of death to us, it was, " At the 
approach of the Dark Angel of the Grave," '* At the coming of 
the grim King of Terrors," " At the warning of that awful 
Power to whom all of us must bow down," " At the summons 
of that Pallid Spectre whose equal foot knocks at the mon- 
arch's tower or the poor man's cabin " — and so forth. There 
is an examiner of plays, and indeed there ought to be an ex- 
aminer of sermons, by which audiences are to be fully as much 
injured or misguided as by the other named exhibitions. What 
call have reverend gentlemen to repeat their dicta half a dozen 
times over, like Sir Robert Peel when he says anything that he 
fancies to be witty ? Why are men to be^tept for an hour and 
twenty minutes listening to that which may be more effectually 
said in twenty ? 

And it need not be said here that a church is not a sermon- 
house — that it is devoted to a purpose much more lofty and 
sacred, for which has been set apart the noblest service, every 
single word of which latter has been previously weighed with 
the most scrupulous and thoughtful reverence. And after this 

* Here is an extract from one of the latter — ' 

" Hasten to some distant isle, 
In the bosom of the deep, 
Where the skies for ever smile, 
A nd ike blacks for ever weepJ'^ 
Is it not a shame that such nonsensical twaddle should be sung in a house of the Church 
of England, and by people assembled for grave and decent worship? 



c;o4 ^-^^ IRIS IT SKETCH BOOK. 

sublime work of genius, learninix, and piety is concluded, is it 
not""n. shame that a man should mount a deck, who has not 
taken the trouble to arrange his words beforehand, and speak ^ 
thence his crude opinions in his doubtful grammar ? It will be 
answered that the extempore preacher does not deliver crude 
opinions, but that he arranges his discourse beforehand : to all 

which it may be replied that Mr. contradicted himself 

more than once in the course of the above oration, and rC' 
peated himself a half-dozen of times. A man in that place 
has no right to say a word too much or too little. 

And it comes to this, — it is the preachec the people follow, 
not the prayers ; or why is this church more frequented than 
any other } It is that warm emphasis, and word-mouthing, and 
vulgar imagerv, and glib rotundity of phrase, which brings them 
together and keeps them happy and breathless. Some of this 
class call the Cathedral Service Faddfs Opcrq, ; they say it is 
Popish — downright scarlet — they, won't go to it. They will 
have none but their own hymns — and pretty they are — no orna- 
ments but those of their own minister, his rank incense and 
tawdry rhetoric. Coming out of the church, on the Custom 
House steps hard by, there was a fellow with a bald large fore- 
head, a new black coat, a little Bible, spouting — spouting " in 
omne volubilis osvum " — the very counterpart of the reverend 
gentleman hard by. It was just the same thing, just as well 
done ; the eloquence quite as easy and round, the amplification 
as ready, the big words rolling round the tongue just as within 
doors. But we are out of the Devil's Glen by this time ; and 
perliaps, instead of delivering a sermon there, we had better 
have been at church hearing one. 

The country people, however, are far more pious ; and the 
road along which we%went to Glendalough was thronged with 
happy figures of people plodding to or from mass. A chapel- 
yard was covered with gray cloaks ; and at a little inn hard by, 
stood numerous carts, cars, shandrydans, and pillioned horses, 
awaiting the end of the prayers. The aspect of the country is 
wild, and beautiful of course ; but why try to describe it ? I 
think the Irish scenery just like the Irish melodies — sweet, 
wild, and sad even in the sunshine. You can neither represent 
one nor the other by words ; but I am sure if one could trans- 
late " The Meeting of the Waters " into form and colors, it 
would fall into the exact shape of a tender Irish landscape. So 
take and play that tune upon your fiddle, and shut your eyes, and 
muse a little, and you have the whole scene before you. 

I don't know if there is any tune about Glendalough ; but 



THE IRJSH SKETCH BOOK. 



505 



if there be, it must be the most delicate, fantastic, fairy melody 
that ever was played. Only fancy can describe the charms of 
that delijxhtful place. Directly you see it, it smiles at you as in- 
nocent and friendly as a little child ; and once seen, it becomes 
your friend forever, and you are always happy when you think 
of it. Here is a little lake, and little fords across it, surround- 
ed by little mountains, and which lead you now to little islands 
vdiere there are all sorts of fantastic little old chapels and 
graveyards ; or, again, into little brakes and shrubberies where 
small rivers are crossing over little rocks, plashing and jump- 
ingy and singing as loud as ever they can. Thomas Moore has 
written rather an awful description of it ; and it may indeed 
appear big to ////;/, and to the fairies who must have inhabited 
the place in old days, that's clear. For who could be accom- 
modated in it except the little people ? 

There are seven churches, whereof the clergy must have 
been the smallest persons, and have had the smallest benefices 
and the littlest congregations ever known. As for the cathedral, 
what a bishoplet it must have been that presided there. The 
place would hardly hold the Bishop of London, or Mr. Sydney 
Smith — two full-sized clergymen of these days — -v/ho would be 
sure to quarrel there for want 01 room, or for any other reason. 
There must have been a dean no bigger than Mr. Moore before 
mentioned, and a chapter no bigger than that chapter in "Tris- 
tram Shandy " which does not contain a single word, and mere 
popguns of canons, and a beadle about as tall as Crofton 
Croker, to whip the little boys who were playing at taw (with 
peas) in the yard. 

They say there was a university, too, in the place, with I 
don't know how many thousand scholars ; but for accounts of 
this there is an excellei^t guide on the spot, who, for a shilling 
or two, will tell all he knov/s, and a great deal more too. 

There are numerous legends, too, concerning St. Kevin, and 
Fin MacCoul and the Devil, and the deuce knows what. Eut 
these stories are, I am bound to say, abominably stupid and 
stale ; and some guide* ought to be seized upon and choked, 
and flung into the lake, by way of warning to the others to stop 
their interminable prate. This is the curse attending curiosit}', 
for visitors to almost all the show-places in the country : you 
have not only the guide — who himself talks too much — but a 
string of ragged amateurs, starting from bush and briar, ready 

* It must be said, for the worthy fellow who accompanied us, and who acted 3s cicerone 
previously to the great Willjs, the great Hall, the great Barrow, that though he wears ,1 
ragged coat his manners'are those of a gcnt'eman, and his conversation evinces no small 
tilent, taste, and scholarship. 



5o6 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

to carry his honor's umbrella or my hidy's cloak, or to help 
either up a bank or across a stream. And all the while they 
look wistfully in your face, saying, "Give me sixpence !" as 
clear as looks can speak. The unconscionable rogues 1 how 
dare they, for the sake of a little starvation or so, interrupt 
gentlefolks in their pleasure ! 

A long tract of wild country, with a park or two here and 
there, a police-barrack perched on a hill, a half-starved looking 
church stretching its long scraggy steeple over a wide plain, 
mountains whose base is richly cultivated while their tops are 
purple and lonely, warm cottages and farms nestling at the foot 
of the hills, and humble cabins here and there on the wayside, 
accompany the car, that jingles back over fifteen miles of 
ground through Inniskerry to Bray. You pass by wild gaps and 
Greater and Lesser Sugar Loaves; and about eight o'clock, 
when the sky is quite red with sunset, and the long shadows 
are of such a purple as (they may say what they like) Claude 
could no more paint than I can, you catch a glimpse of the sea 
beyond Bray, and cr3dng out, "^ tV«/arra, OdXazra ! " affect to be 
wondrously delighted by the sight of that element. 

The fact is, however, that at Bray is one of the best inns in 
Ireland ; and there you may be perfectly sure is a good dinner 
ready, five minutes after the honest car-boy, with innumerable 
hurroos and smacks of his whip, has brought up his passengers 
to the door with a gallop. 



As for the Vale of Avoca, I have not described that : be- 
cause (as has been before occasionally remarked) it is vain to 
attempt to describe natural beauties ; and because, secondly 
(though this is a minor consideration)^ we did not go thither. 
But we went on another day to the Dargle, and to Shanganah, 
and the city of Cabinteely, and to the Scalp — that wild pass : 
and I have no more to say about them than about the Vale of 
Avoca. The Dublin Cockney, who has these places at his 
door, knows them quite well : and as for the Londoner, who is 
meditating a trip to the Rhine for the summer, or to Brittany or 
Normandy, let us beseech him to see his own country first (if 
Lord Lyndhurst will allow us to call this a part of it) ; and if, 
after twenty-four hours of an easy journey from London, the 
Cockney be not placed in the midst of a country as beautiful, 
as strange to him, as romantic as the most imaginative man on 
'Change can desire, — may this work be praised by the critics 
all round and never reach a second edition ! 



THE TRISTT SKETCFT BOOK. 



507 



CHAPTER XXV. 

COUNTRY MEETINGS IN KILDARE MEATH DROGHEDA. 

An agricultural show was to be held at the town of Nans, 
and I was glad, after having seen the grand exhibition at Cork, 
to be present at a more homely, unpretending country festival 
where the eyes of Europe, as the orntors say, did not happen to 
be looking on. Perhaps men are apt, under the idea of this 
sort of inspection, to assume an air somewhat more pompous 
and magnilicent than that which they wear ever}' day. The 
Naas meeting was conducted without the slightest attempt at 
splendor or display — a heart}^ modest, matter-of-fact country 
meeting. 

Market-day was fixed upon of course, and the town, as we 
drove into it, was thronged Vv'ith frieze-coats, the market-place 
bright with a great number of apple-stalls, and the street filled 
with carts and vans of numerous small tradesmen, vending 
cheeses, or cheap crockeries, or read3--made^ clothes and such 
goods. A clothier, with a great crowd round him, had arrayed 
himself in a staring new waistcoat of his stock, and was turn- 
ing slowly round to exhibit the garment, spouting all the while 
to his audience, and informing them that he could lit out any 
person, in one minute, " in a complete new shuit from head to 
fut." There seemed to be a crowd of gossips at every shop- 
door, and, of course, a number of gentlemen waiting at the inn- 
steps, criticizing the cars and carriages as the}?- drove up. Only 
those who live in small towns know what an object of interest 
the street becomes, and the carriages and horses which pass 
therein. Most of the gentlemen had sent stock to compete 
for the prizes. The shepherds were tending the stock. The 
judges were making their award, and until their sentence was 
given, no competitors could enter the show-yard. The entrance 
to that, meanwhile, v^-as thronged by a great posse of people, 
and as the gate abutted upon an old gray tower, a number of 
people had scaled that, and were looking at the beasts in the 
court belov/. Likewise, there was a tall haystack, which pos^ 
sessed similar advantages of situation, and Vv-as equally thronged 
with men and boys. The rain had fallen heavily all night, the 
^heavens were still black with it, and the coats of the men, and 



^oS THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

the red feet of many ragged female spectators, were liberalh 
spattered with mud. 

The first object of interest we were called upon to see wasi 
a famous stallion ; and passing- through the little by-stree,t|t 
(dirty and small, but not so small and dirty as other by-streetitj 
to be seen in Irish towns,) we came to a porte-cochere, leading 
into a yard filled with wet fresh hay, sinking juicily under tht 
feet ; and here in a shed was the famous stallion. His sin 
must have been a French diligence-horse ; he was of a roar 
color, with a broad chest, and short clean legs. His foreheac 
was ornamented with a blue ribbon, on which his name anc 
prizes were painted, and on his chest hung a couple of medal; 
by a chain — a silver one awarded to him at Cork, a gold one 
carried off by superior merit from other stallions assembled l( 
contend at Dublin. When the points of the animal were suffi 
ciently discussed, a mare, his sister, was produced, and admirec 
still more than himself. Any man who has witnessed the per 
formance of the French horses in the Havre diligence, mus 
admire the vast strength and the extraordinary swiftness of the 
breed ; and it was agreed on all hands, that such horses wouk 
prove valuable in this country, where it is hard now to get z. 
stout horse for the road, so much has the fashion for blood.; 
and nothing but blood, prevailed of late. 

By the time the stallion was seen, the judges had done theii 
arbitration ; and we went to the yard, where broad-backed sheeff 
were resting peaceably in their pens ; bulls were led about byv 
the nose ; enormous turnips, both Swedes and Aberdeens, re 
posed in the mud ; little cribs of geese, hens, and peafowl were, 
come to try for the prize ; and pigs might be seen — some eri'il 
cumbered with enormous families, others with fat merely. The|j 
poked up one brute to walk for us : he made, after many futile? 
attempts, a desperate rush forward, his legs almost lost in fat; 
his immense sides quivering and shaking with the exercise ; he 
was then allowed to return to his straw, into which he sank 
panting. Let us hope that he went home with a pink ribbon 
round his tail that night, and got a prize for his obesity. 

I think the pink ribbon was, at least to a Cockney, the 
jDleasantest sight of all : for on the evening after the show we 
saw many carts going away so adorned, having carried of! 
prizes on the occasion. First came a great bull stepping along, 
he and his driver having each a bit of pink on their heads 
then a cart full of sheep ; then a car of good-natured-looking 
people, having a churn in the midst of them that sported a pink 
favor. When all the prizes were distributed, a select company 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



509 



;at down to dinner at Macavoy's Hotel ; and no doubt a re- 
)orter who was present has given in the county paper an ac- 
count of all the good things eaten and said. At our end of the 
able we had saddle-of-mutton, and I remarked a boiled leg of 
he. same delicacy, with turnips, at the opposite extremity. 
Before the vice I observed a large piece of roast-beef, which I 
iould not observe at* the end of dinner, because it was all swal- 
owed. After the mutton we had cheese, and were just begin- 
ling to think that we had dined very sutficiently, when a squad- 
ron of apple-pies came smoking in, and convinced us that, in 
^uch a glorious cause, Britons are never at fault. We ate up 
he apple-pies, and then the punch was called for by those who 
preferred that beverage to wine, and the sj^eeches began. 

The chairman gave "The Queen," nine times nine and one 
:heer more : " Prince Albert and the rest of the Royal Family," 
jreat cheering; "The Lord-Lieutenant" — his Excellency's 
lealth was received rather coolly, I thought. And then began 
;he real business of the night : health of the Naas Society, 
lealth of the Agricultural Society, and healths all round ; not 
orgetting the Sallymount Beagles and the Kildare Foxhounds 
—which toasts were received with loud cheers and halloos by 
nost of the gentlemen present, and elicited brief speeches 
Tom the masters of the respective hounds, promising good 
>port next season. After the Kildare Foxhounds, an old farmer 
n a gray coat got gravely up, and without being requested to 
io so in the least, sang a song, stating that — 

" At seven in the morning by most of the clocks 
We rode to Kilrucldery in search of a fox ; " 

ind at the conclusion of his song challenged a friend to give 
mother song. Another old farmer, on this, rose and sang one 
Df Morris's songs with a great deal of queer humor ; and no 
doubt many more songs were sung during the evening, for 
Dlenty of hot-water jugs were blocking the door as we went out. 
The jolly frieze-coated songster who celebrated the Kilrud- 
iery fox, sang, it must be confessed, most wofully out of tune ; 
but still it was pleasant to hear him, and I think the meeting 
ivas the most agreeable one I have seen in Ireland : there was 
nore good -humor, more cordial union of classes, more frank- 
ness and manliness, than one is accustomed to find in Irish 
meetings. All the speeches were kind-hearted, straightfor- 
ward speeches, without a word of politics or an attempt at 
oratory : it was impossible to say whether the gentlemen pres- 
ent we're Protestant or Catholic, — each one had a hearty word 



5^^ 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK'. 



of encouragement for his tenant, and a kind welcome for his 
neighbor. There were forty stout, well-to-do farmers in the 
room, renters of fifty, seventy, a hundred acres of land. There 
were no clergymen present ; though it would have been pleas- 
ant to have seen one of each persuasion to say grace for the : 
meeting and the meat. 

. At a similar meeting at Ballytore the "next day, I had an = 
opportunity of seeing a still finer collection of stock than had^ 
been brought to Naas, itnd at the same time one of the most-* 
beautiful flourishing villages in Ireland. The road* to it from' 

H town, if not remarkable for its rural beauty, is pleasantv 

to travel, for evidences of neat and prosperous husbandry arel 
around you everywhere : rich crops in the fields, and neat cot- 
tages by tlic roadside, accompanying us as fa*r as Ballytore — a , 
white, straggling v-i 11 age, surrounding green fields of some jive 
furlongs square, with a river running in the midst of them, and. 
numerous fine cattle in the green. Here is a large windmill,' 
fitted up like a castle, with battlements and towers: the cas- 
tellan thereof is a good-natured old Quaker gentleman, and 
numbers more of his following inhabit the town. 

The consequence was that the shops of the village were the 
neatest possible, though by no means grand or portentous. 
Why should Quaker shops be neater than other shops ? They 
suffer to the full as much oppression as the rest of the heredi- 
tary bondsmen ; and yet, in spite of their tyrants, they prosper. ! 

I must not attempt to pass an opinion iipon the stock ex-^ 
hibited at Ballytore ; but^ in the opinion of some large agricul- 
tural proprietors present, it might have figured with advantage 
in any show in England, and certainly was finer than the exhi- 
bition at Naas ; which, however, is a very young society. The 
best part of the show, however, tcf ever3^body's thinking, (and 
it is pleasant to observe the manly fair-play spirit which char- 
acterizes the society,) was, that the prizes of the Irish Agricul- 
tural Society were awarded to two men — one a laborer, the 
other a very small holder, both having reared the best Stock 
exhibited on the occasion. At the dinner, which took place in 
a barn of the inn, smartly decorated with laurels for the pur- 
pose, there was as good and stout a body of yoemen as at Naas 
the day previous, but only two landlords : and here, too, as at 
Naas, neither priest nor parson. Cattle-feeding of course 
formed the principal theme of the after-dinner discourse— not, 
however, altogether to the exclusion of tillage ; and there was 
a good and useful prize for those who could not afford to rear 
• fat oxen — for the best kept cottage and garden, namely — which ' 



TirE IRISfr SKETCH BOOK. c I I 

was won by a poor man with a large family and scanty, preca- 
rious earnings, but who yet found means to make the most of 
his small resources and to keep his little cottage neat and 
cleanly. The tariff and the plenli'ul harvest together had 
helped to bring down prices severely ; and we heard from the 
farmers much desponding talk. I saw hay sold for 2/. the ton, 
and oats for Zs. yl. the barrel. 

In the little village I remarked scarcely a single beggar, 
and very few bare feet indeed among the crowds wh» came to 
see the show. Here the Quaker village had the advantage of 
the town of Naas, in spite of its poor-house, which was only 
half full wl^en we M^ent to see it ; but the people prefer beggary 
and starvation abroad to comfort and neatness in the union- 
house. 

A neater establishment cannot be seen than this ; and 
liberty must be very sweet indeed, when people prefer it and 
starvation to the certainty of comfort in the union-house. We 
went to see it after the show at Naas. 

The first persons we saw at the gate of the place were four 
buxom lasses in blue jackets and petticoats, who were giggling 
and laughing as gayly as so many young heiresses of a thousand 
a year, and who had a color in their cheeks that any lady of 
Almack's might envy. They were cleaning pails and carrying 
in water from a green court or playground in front of the house, 
which some of the able-bodied men of the place were busy in 
inclosing. Passing through the large entrance of the house, a 
nondesgript Gothic building, we came to a court divided by a 
road and two low walls : the right inclosure is devoted to the 
boys of the establishment, of whom there were about fifty at 
play : boys more healthy or happy it is impossible to see. 
Separated from them is the nursery ; and here were seventy or 
eighty young childrep, a shrill clack of happy voices leading 
the way to the door where they were to be found. Boys and 
children had a comfortable little uniform, and shoes were fur- 
nished for all ; though the authorities did not seem particularly 
severe in enforcing the wearing of the shoes, which most of the 
^oung persons left behind them. 

In spite of all The Th?ies^s in the world, the place was a 
bappy one. It is kept with a neatness and comfort to which, 
antil his entrance into the union-house, the Irish peasant must 
Derforce have been a stranger. All the rooms and passages 
ire white, well scoured, and airy ; all the windows are glazed ; 
ill the beds have a good store of blankets and sheets. In the 
women's dormitories thefe lay sereral infirm persons, not ill 



c;i2 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

enough for the infirmary, and glad of the society of the commor 
room : in one of the men's sleeping-rooms we found a score o: 
old gray-coated men sitting round another who was reading 
prayers to' them. And outside the place we found a womai 
starving in rags, as she had beeii ragged and starving for years 
her husband was wounded, and lay in his house upon straw 
her children were ill with a fever; she had neither meat, no 
physic, nor clothing, nor fresh air, nor warmth for them ; — anc 
she preferred to starve on rather than enter the house ! 

The last of our agricultural excursions was to the fair o 
Castledermot, celebrated for the show of cattle to be seei 
there, and attended by the farmers and gentry of the neigh 
boring counties. Long before reaching the place we me 
troops of cattle coming from it — -^tock of a beautiful kind, fo 
the most part large, sleek, Vv'hite, long-backed, most of th< 
larger animals being bound for England. There was very nea 
as fine a show in the pastures along the road — which lies acros 
a light green country with plenty of trees to ornament the land 
scape, and some n,eat cottages along the roadside. ; 

At the turnpike of Castledermot the droves of cattle met ui 
by scores no longer, but by hundreds, and the long street o 
the place was thronged with oxen, sheep, and horses, and witlt 
those who wished to see, to sell, or to buy. The squires werr 
all together in a cluster at the police-house ; the owners of thij 
horses rode up and down, shovving the best paces of thei 
brutes ; among whom you might see Paddy, in his ragged friezf i 
coat^ seated on his donkey's bare rump, and proposing him fa 
sale. I think I saw a score of this humble though useful bree^ 
that were brought for sale to the fair. " 1 fcan sell him," say) 
one fellow, with a pompous air, "wid his tackle or widout. 
He was looking as grave over the negotiation as if it had bee-! 
for a thousand pounds. Besides the donkeys, of course ther 
was plenty of poultry, and there were pigs without numbei 
shrieking and struggling and pushing hither and thither amon 
the crowd, rebellious to the straw-rope. It was a fine thing t 
see one huge grunter and the manner in which he was lande 
into a cart. The cart was let down on an easy inclined plan 
to tempt him : two men ascending, urged him by the foreleg; 
other two entreated him by the tail. At length, when moi 
than half of his body had been coaxed upon the cart, it wc 
suddenly whisked up, causing the animal thereby to fall fo 
ward ; a parting shove sent him altogether into the cart ; th 
two gentlemen inside jumped out, and the monster was left t 
ride home. 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK'. 513 

The farmers, as usual, were talking of the tariff, predicting 
ruin to themselves, as farmers will, on account of the decreasing 
price of sjtock and the consequent fall of grain. Perhaps the 
person most to be pitied is the poor pig-proprietor yonder • it 
is hi^rent which he is carrying through the market squeaking 
at the end of the straw-rope, and Sir Robert's bill adds insol- 
vency to that poor fellow's misery. 

This was the last of tlie sights which the kind awner of H — 
town had invited me into his country to see ; and I think they 
were among the most pleasing I witnessed in Ireland. Rich 
and poor were working friendly together ; priest and parson 
were alike interested in these honest, homely, agricultural fes- 
tivals ; not a word was said about hereditary bondage ancL 
English tyranny ; and one did not much regret the absence of 
those patriotic topics of conversation. If but for the sake cf 
the change, it was pleasant to pass a few days with people 
iamong whom there was no quarrelling : no furious denuncia- 
tions against Popery on the parts of the Protestants, and no 
tirades against the parsons from their bitter and scornful op- 
ponents of the other creed. 

Next Sunday, in the county Meath, in a quiet old church 
lying ampngst meadows and fine old stately avenues of trees, 
and for the benefit of a congregation of some thirty persons, I 
heard for the space of an hour and twenty" minutes some 
thorough Protestant doctrines, and the Popish superstitions 
properly belabored. Does it strengthen a man in his own creed 
to hear his neighbor's belief abused 1 One would imagine so ; 
for though abuse converts nobody, yet many of our pastors 
think they are not doing their duty by their own fold unless 
they fling stones at the flock in the next field, and have, for the 
honor of the service, a match at cudgellin^s: with the shepherd. 
Our shepherd to-day was of this pugnacious sort. 

The Meath landscape, if not varied and picturesque, is ex- 
tremely rich and pleasant ; and we took some drives along the 
banks of the Boyne — to the noble park of Slane (still sacred to 
the memory of George IV., who actually condescended to pass 
some days there), and to Trim — of which the name occurs so 
often in Swift's Journals, and where stands an enormous old 
castle that was inhabited by Prince John. It was taken from 
him by an Irish chief, our guide said ; and from the Irish chitf 
fit was taken by Oliver Cromw^ell. O'Thuselah was the Irish 
' chief's name no doubt. 

Here too stands, in the midst of one of the mof t v.retchcd 
towns in Ireland, a pillar erected in honor cf the Duke of V.'el- 

33 



^ 1 4 THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK, 

lingtoii Dy the gentry of his native county. His birthplace, 
Dangan, lies not far off. And as we saw the hero's statue, i 
flight of birds had hovered about it : there was one -on each 
epaulette and two o;i his marshal's staff. Besides thes^von 
d(irs, we saw a certain number of beggars ; and a madman, who 
vv'as walking round a mound and preaching a sermon on grace ; 
an I a little child's funeral came passing through the dismal 
town, .the onl^' stirring thing in it (the coffin was laid on a one 
horse country car — a little deal box, in which the poor child 
lay — and a great troojD of people followed the humble proces- 
sion) ; and the inn-keeper, who had caught a few stray gentle- 
folk in a town where travellers must be rare ; and in his inn — '• 
which is more gaunt and miserable than the town itself, and 
which is by no means rendered more cheerful because sundry 
theological works are left for the rare frequenters in the coffee 
room — the inn-keeper brought in a bill which would have been 
worthy of Long's, and which was paid with much grumbling on 
both sides. 

It would not be a bad rule for the traveller in Ireland to 
avoid those inns wher"; theological works are left in the coffee- 
room. He is pretty sure to be made to pay very dearly for 
these religious privileges. 

We waited for the coach at the beautiful lodge and gate of 
Annsbrook ; and one of the sons of the house coming up, in 
vited us to look at the domain, which is as pretty and neatly 
ordered as — as any in England. It is hard to use this com 
parison so often, and must make Irish hearers angry. Can't 
one see a neat house and grounds without instantly thinking 
that they are worthy of the sister country ; and implying, in 
our cool way, its superiority to everywhere else? Walking in 
this gentleman's grounds, I told him, \\\ the simplicity of my 
heart, that the neighboring country was like Warwickshire, and 
the grounds as good as any English park. Is it the fact that 
English groui d ; are superior, or only tiiat Englishmen are dis 
posed to consider them so ? 

A pretty little twining river, called the Nanny's Water, 
runs through the park : there is a legend about that, as about 
other places. Once upon a time (ten thousand years ago). 
Saint Patrick being thirsty as he passed by this country, came 
to the house of an old woman, of whom he asked a drink of 
milk". The old woman brought it to his reverence with the best 
of Yv'olcomes, and * * * * here it is a great mercy that the 
Jjelfast mail comes up, whereby the reader is spared the rest of 
the history. 



THE IRISH S KE Tc II BOOK. 5x5 

The Belfast mail had only to carry us five miles to Drogh- 
decla, but, in revenge, it made' us pay three shillings for the 
five miles ; and again, by way of compensation, it carried us over 
five mil^s of a country that was worth at least five shillings 
to see — not romantic or especially beautiful, but having the 
best of all beauty — a quiet, smiling, prosperous, unassuming 
work-day look, that in views and land scapes most good judges ad- 
mire. Hard by Nanny's Water, we came to Duleek Bridge, 
where, I was told, stands an old residence of the De Daili 
family, who were, moreover, builders of the picturesque old 
bridge. 

The road leads over a wide green common, which puts one 

in mind of Eng (a plague on it, there is the comparison 

again!), and at the end of the common lies the village among 
trees : a beautiful and peaceful sight. In the background there 
was a tall ivy-covered old tower, looking neble and imposing, 
but a ruin and useless ; then there was a church, and next to 
it a chapel — the very same sun was shining upon both.* The 
ehapel and church were connected by a farm-yard, and a score 
of golden ricks were in the background^ the churches in unison, 
and the people (typified by the corn -ricks) flourishing at the 
feet of both. May one ever hope to see the day in Ireland 
when this little landscape allegory shall find a general applica- 
tion ? 

For some way after leaving Duleek the road and the coun- 
try round continue to wear the agreeable, cheerful look just 
now lauded. You pass by a house where James II. is said to 
have slept the night before the battle of the Boyne (he took 
care to sleep far enough off on the night after), and also by an 
old red-brick hall standing at the end of an old chace or terrace- 
avenue, that runs for about a mile down to the house, and 
finishes at a moat towards the r^acl. But as the coach arrives 
near Drogheda, and in the boulevards of that town, all resem- 
lance to England is lost. Up hill and down, we pass low 
rows of filthy cabins in dirty unckilation. Parents are at the 
cabin-doors dressing the hair of ragged children ; shock-heads 
of girls peer out from the black circumference of smoke, and 
children inconceivably filthy yell v/ildly and vociferously as the 
coach passes by. One little ragge:! savage rushed furiously up 
the hill, speculating upon permission to put on the drag-chain 
at descending, and hoping for a halfpenny reward. He put on 
the chain, but the guard did not give a halfpenny. I flung him 
one, and the boy rushed wildly after tic carriage, holding it up 
with joy. " The man inside has gi-CM r.ie one." sav- he. hold 



r 1 5 THE IRISH SHE TCII B QOK. 

ing it up exultingly to the guard. I flung out another (by the 
bye, and without any prejudice, the halfpence in Ireland are- 
smaller than those of England), but when the child got this 
halfpenny, small as it was, it seemed to overpower him : the 
little man's look of gratitude was worth a great deal more than 
the biggest penny ever struck. 

The town itself, which I had three-quarters of an hour to 
ramble through, is smoky, dirty, and lively. There was a 
great bustle in the black Main Street, and several good shops, 
though some of the houses were in a half state of ruin, and 
battered shutters closed many of the windows where formerly 
had been '"emporiums," " repositories," and other grandly- 
tilled abodes of small commerce. Exhortations to "repeal" 
were liberally plastered on the blackened walls, proclaiming 
some past or promised visit of the " great agitator." .From the 
bridge is .a good bustling spectacle of the river and the craft ; 
tiie quays were grimy with the discharge of the coal-vessels that 
lay alongside them ; tlie warehouses were not less black ; the 
seamen and porters loitering on the quay were as swarthy as 
thoJe of Puddledock ; numerous factories and chimneys were 
vomiting huge clouds of black smoke : the commerce of the 
town is stated by the Guide-book to be considerable, and in- 
creasing of late years. Of one part of its manufactures every 
traxeUer must speak with gratitude — of the ale namely, which is* 
as i;ood as the best brewed in the sister kinjjdom. Drogheda ale 
is to be drunk all over Ireland in the bottled state : candor 
calls for the acknowledgment that it is equally praiseworthy in 
draught. And while satisfying himself of this fact, the philoso- 
phic observer cannot but ask why ale should not be as good 
elsewhere as at Drogheda : is the water cf the Boyne the only 
water in Ireland wh.creof ale can be made ? 

Above the river and craft, an^ the smoky quays of the town, 
the hills rise abruptly, up which innumeralje cabins clamber. 
On one of them, by a church, is a round tower, or fort, with a 
flag : the church is the successor of one battered down by 
Cromwell in 1649, ^^^ ^^^^ frightful siege of the place. The 
place of one of his batteries is still marked outside the town, 
and known as "Cromwell's Mount:" here he "made the 
breech assaultable, and, by the help of God, stormed it." He 
chose the strongest point of the defence for his attack. 

After being twice beaten back, by the divine assistance he 
was enabled to succeed in a third assault : he " knocked on 
the head" all the officers of the;2;arrison ; h.e ^a\e orders that 
rnnc C)f the n^en should Vo <-^-nv;--''. "• T think." ' nv- Vc. "il-nt 



THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. c; 1 7 

night we put to the sword two thousand men ; and one hundred 
of them having taken possession of St. Peter's steeple and a 
round tower next the gate, called St. Sunday's, I ordered the 
steeple of St. Peter's to be fired, when one in the flames was 
heard to say, ' God confound me, I burn, I burn ! ' " The 
Lord General's history of "this great mercy vouchsafed to us " 
concludes with appropriate religious reflections : and prays Mr. 
Speaker of the House of Commons to remember that "it is 
good that God alone have all the glory." Is not the recollec- 
tion of this butchery almost enough to make an Irishman turn 
rebel } 

When troops marched over the bridge, a young friend of 
mine (whom I shrewdly suspected to-be an Orangeman in his 
heart) told me that their bands played the " Boyne Water." 
Here is another legend of defeat for the Irishman to muse 
upon ; and here it was, too, that King Richard II. received the 
homage of four Irish kings, who flung their bkenes or daggers 
at his feet and knelt to him, and were wonder-stricken by the 
riches of his tents and the garments of his knights and ladies. 
I think it is in Lingard that the story is told ; and the anti- 
quarian has no doubt seen that beautiful old manuscript at the 
British museum where these yellow-mantled warriors are seen 
riding down to the King, splendid in his forked beard, and 
peaked shoes, and long dangling* scolloped sleeves and em- 
.broidered gown. 

The Boyne winds picturesquely round two sides of the town, 
and following it, we came to the Linen Hall, — in the days of 
the linen manufacture a place of note, nov/ the place where 
Mr. O'Connell harangues the people ; but all the windows of 
the house were barricaded wdien we passed it, and of linen or 
any other sort of merchandise there seemed to be none. Three 
boys were running past it with a mouse tied to a string and a 
dog galloping after ; two little children were paddling down 
the street, one saying to the other, " Once I had- a halfpenny, 
and bought apples with it." The barges were lying lazily ®n 
the river, on the opposite side of which was a wood of a gentle- 
man's dornain, over which the rooks were cawing ; and by the 
shore were some ruins — " where Mr. Ball once had his kennel 
of hounds " — touching reminiscence of former prosperity .'* 

There is a very large and ugly Roman Catholic chapel in 
the town, and a smaller one of better construction : it was so 
crowded, however, although on a week-day, that we could not 
pass beyond the chapel yard — where we'-e great crowds of 
people, some praying, some talking, some buyiiig and selling. 



3iS , , THE IRfSH SKETCH BOOK 

There were two or three stalls in the yard, such as one sees 
near continental churches, beads, books, and benitiers for the 
faithful to purchase. The church is large and commodious 
within, and looks (not like all other churches in Ireland_) as if 
it were frequented. There is a hideous stone monument in 
the churchyard representing two corpses half rotted aWay : 
time or neglect had battered away the inscription, nor could we 
see the dates of some older tombstones in the ground, which 
were mouldering away in the midst of nettles and rank grass 
on the wall. 

By a large public school of some reputation, where a hun- 
dred boys were educated (my young guide the Orangeman was 
one of them : he related with much glee how, on one of the 
Liberator's visits, a schoolfellow had waved a blue and orange 
flag from the window and cried, " King William forever, and 
to hell with the Pope ! "), there is a fine old gate leading to the 
river, and in excellent preservation, in spite of time and Oliver 
Cromwell. It is a good specimen of Irish architecture. By 
this time that exceedingly slow coach the " Newry Lark " had 
arrived at that exceedingly filthy inn where the mail had drop- 
ped us an hour before. An enormous Englishman was holding 
a vain combat of wit with a brawny, grinning beggar-woman at 
the door. " There's a clever gentleman," says the beggar- 
woman. " Sure he'll give me something." " Flow much should 
you like ? " says the Englishman, with playful jocularity# 
" Musha," says she, " many a littler man nor you has given me 
a shilling." The coach drives away ; the lady had clearly the 
best of the joking-match ; but I did not see, for all that, that 
the Englishman gave her a single farthing. 

From Castle Eellingham — as famous for ale as Drogheda, 
and remarkable likewise for a still better thing than ale, an ex- 
cellent resident proprietress, whose fine park lies by the road, 
and by whose care and taste the village has been rendered one 
of the most neat and elegant I have yet seen in Ireland — the 
road to Dundalk is exceedingly picturesque, and the travel- 
ler has the pleasure of feasting his eyes with the noble line of 
Mourne Mountains, which rise before him while Ire journeys 
over a level country for several miles. The " Newry Lark " 
to be sure disdained to take advantage of the easy roads to 
accelerate its movements in any way ; but the aspect of the 
country is so pleasant tlpt one can afford to loiter over it. 
The fields were yellow with the stubble of the corn — which in 
this, one of the chief corn counties of Ireland, had just been 
cut down ; and a long straggling line of neat farm houses and 



THE IKISri SKETCH BOOK. - ig 

cottages runs almost the whole way from Castle Bellingham to 
Duncialk. For nearly a couple of miles of the distance, the 
road runs along t]ie picturesque flat called Lurgan Green ; and 
gentlemen's residences and parks are numerous along the road, 
and one seems to have come amongst a new race of people, so 
trim are the cottages, so neat the gates and hedges, in this 
peaceful, smiling district. The people, top, show signs of the 
general prosperity. A national-school has just dismissed its 
female scholars as we passed through Dunlar ; and though the 
children had most of them bare feet, their clothes were good 
and clean, their faces rosy and bright, and their long hair as 
shiny and as nicely combed as young ladies' need to be. Nu-. 
merous old castles and towers stand on the road here and there ; 
and long before we entered Dundalk we had a sight of a huge 
factor}';chimney in the town, and of the dazzling white walls of 
the Roman Catholic church lately erected there. The cabin- 
suburb is not great, and the entrance to the town is much 
adorned by the hospital — a handsome Elizabethan building — 
and a row of houses of a similar architectural style which lie 
on the left of the traveller. 



CHAPTER XXVL 

DUNDALK. 

The stranger can't fail to be struck with the look of Dun- 
dalk, as he has been wuth the villages and country leading to it, 
when contrasted wdth places in the South and West of Ireland. 
The coach stopped at a cheerful looking Place^ of which almost 
the only dilapidated^mansion was the old inn at which it dis' 
charged us, and which did not hold out much prospect of com- 
fort. But in justice to the " King's Arms " it must be said 
that good beds and dinners are to be obtained there by voy- 
agers ; and if they choose to arrive on da}'s when his Grace the 
Most Reverend the Lord Archbishop of Armagh and of Ireland 
is dining with his clergy, the house of course is crowded, and 
the waiters, and the boy who carries in the potatoes, a little 
hurried and flustered. When their reverences were gone, 
the laity were served ; and I have no doubt, from the leg of a 
duck which I got. that the breast and wings must have been 
verv tender. 



5-0 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



Meanwhile the walk was pleasant through the bustling little 
town. A grave old church with a tall copper spire defends one 
end of the Main Street ; and a little way from the inn is the 
superb new chapel, which the architect, Mr.'Duff, has copied 
from King's College Chapel in Cambridge. The ornamental 
part of the interior is not yet completed ; but the area of the 
chapel is spacious. and noble, and three handsome altars of 1 
scagliola (or some composition resembling marble) have been 
erected, of handsome and suitable form. When by the aid of 
further subscriptions the church shall be completed, it will be ;j 
one of the handsomest places of worship the Roman CatholicsJ 
possess in this country. Opposite the chapel^tands a neat low/ 
black building, — the jail : and over the doorway, is an ominouss 
balcony and window, with an iron beam overhead. Each endjl 
of the beam is Ornamented with a grinning iron skull !^ Is this« 
the hanging-place 1 and do these grinning cast-iron skulls face-,- 
tiously explain the business for which the beam is there? For: 
shame ! for shame ! Such disgusting emblems ought no longer; 
to disgrace a Christian land. If kill we must, let us do so with i 
as much despatch and decency as possible, — not brazen out; 
our misdeeds and perpetuate them in this frightful satiric way. 

A far better cas't-iron emblem stands over a handsome shopi 
in the '' Place " hard by — a plough namely, which figures over- 
the factory of Mr. Shekelton, whose industry and skill seemi 
to have brought the greatest benefit to his fellow-townsmen — 
of whom he employs numbers in his foundries and workshops. 
This gentleman was kind enough to show me* through his 
manufactories, where all sorts of iron works are made, from a 
steam-engine to a door-key ; and I saw everything to admire, and 
a vast deal more than I could understand, in the busy, cheerful 
orderly, bustling clanging place. Steam-boilers were hammered 
here, and pins made by a hundred busy hands in a manufac- 
tory above. There was the engine-roon*, where the monster 
was whirring his ceaseless wheels and directing the whole 
operations of the factory, fanning the forges, turning the drills, 
blasting into the pipes of the smelting houses : he had a house 
to himself, from which his orders issued to the different estab- 
lishments round about. One machine was quite awful to me, 
a gentle cockney, not used to such things : it \yas an iron-de- 
vourer, a wretch with huge jaws and a narrow mouth, ever 
openmg and shutting — opening and shutting. You put a half- 
inch iron plate between his jaws, and they shut not a whit 
slower or quicker than before, and bit through the iron as 
if it were a sheet of paper. Below the monster's mouth was a 



THE fRJSll SKETCH BOO IC. -21 

punch that performed its duties with similar dreadful calmness, 
5oing oil its rising and falling. 

1 was so lucky as to have an introduction to the Vicar of 
Dundalk, which that gentleman's kind and generous nature 
interpreted into a claim for unlimited hospitality; and he was 
jijood enough to consider himself bound not only to receive mc, 
but to give up previous engagements abroad in order to do m-. 
I need not say that it afforded me sincere pleasure to witness, 
for a C€>uple of days, his labors among his people ; and indeed 
it was a delightful occupation to watch both liock and pastor. 
The world is a wicked, selfish, abominable place, as the parson 
tells us : but his reverence comes out of his pulpit and gives 
the flattest contradiction to his doctrine ^biusying himself v.itli 
kind actions from morning till night, denying to himself, gen- 
erous to others, pfeaching the truth to young and old, clothing 
th.c naked, feeding the hungry, consoling the wretched, and 
giving hope to tiie sick ; — and I do not mean to say that this 
sort of life is led by the Vi(iar of Dundalk merely, but do firmly 
believe that it is the life, of the great majority of the Protestant 
and Roman Catholic clergy of the country. There will be no 
breach of confidence, I hope, in publishing here the journal 
of a couple of days spent with one of these reverend gentlemen, 
and telling some readers, as idle and profitless as the writer, 
what the clergyman's peaceful labors are. 

In the ■•first place, we set out to visit the church — the 
comfortable copper-spired old edifice that w^as noticed two 
pages back. It stands in a green churchyard of its own, very 
neat and trimly kept, with an old row of trees that were dropping 
their red leaves upon a flock of vaults and tombstones below. 
The building being much injured by flame and time, some 
hundred years back was repaired, enlarged, and ornamented — ■ 
as churches in those days- were ornamented — and consequently 
lost a good deal of its Gothic character. There is a great n ix- 
ture, therefore, of old style and new style and. no style : 1 i:i, 
with all this, the church is one of the most commodious a;.d 
best appointed I have seen in Ireland. The vicar held a coi::> 
cil with a builder regarding some ornaments for the roof of i!-.e 
church, which is, as it should be, a gre'at object of his care ai^l 
architectural taste, and on which he has spent a very large sr..n 
of money. To these expenses he is in a manner bound, for t..e 
living is a considerable one, its income being no less th.in 
two hundred and fifty pounds a year ; out of which lie i as 
merely to maintain a couple of curates and a clerk and sex:c:i, 
to conr.i'jule Ir.rgely towards schools and hospitals, and relie\f! 



^22 ^^^^^ IRISH SKE TCH B O OK. 

a few scores of pensioners of his own, who are fitting objects 
of private bounty. 

^ We went from the church to a school, which has been long 
a favorite resort of the good \icar's : indeed, to judge from the 
schoolmaster's books, his attendance there is almost daily, and 
the number of the scholars some two hundred. The number 
was considerably greater until the schools of the Educational 
Board were established, when the Roman Catholic clergymen 
withdrew many of their young people from Mr. Thackeray's 
establishment. 

We found a large room with sixty or seventy boys at work ; 
in an upper chamber were a considerable number of girls, with 
their teachers, two modest and pretty young women ; but the 
favorite resort of the vicar was evidently the Inf ant-School, — 
and no wonder ; it is impossible to witness atnore beautiful or 
touching sight. 

Eighty of these little people, healthy, clean, and rosy — some 
in smart gowns and shoes and stockings, some with patched 
pinafores and little bare pink feet — sat upon a half-dozen low 
benches, and were singing, at the top of their fourscore fresh 
voices, a song when we entered. All the voices were hushed 
as the vicar came in, and a great bobbing and curtseying took 
place ; whilst a hundred and sixty innocent eyes turned awfully 
towards the clergyman, who tried to look as unconcerned as 
possible, a^id began to make his little ones a speech.- " I have 
brought," says he, "a gentleman from England, who has heard 
of my little children and their scliool, and hopes he will carry 
away a good account of it. Now, you know, we must all do 
our best to be kind and civil to strangers : what can we do 
here for this gentleman that he would like ? — do you think he 
would like a song? " 

'' {All the c/iildrm.)—'' We'll sing to him ! " 
Then the schoolmistress, coming forward, sang the first 
words of a hymn, which at once eighty little voices took up, or 
near eighty — for some of the little things were too young to sing 
yet, and all they could do was to beat the jneasure with little 
red hands as the others sang. It was a hymn about heaven, 
with a chorus of " Oh tlTat will be joyful, joyful," and one of 
the verses beginning, " Liitle cluldren will be there." Some 
of my fair readers (if I have tl.c hOnor to find such) who have 
been present at similar tender. c!iarniing concerts, know the 
hymn, nO doubt. It was the fir, t lime 1 had ever heard it ; 
and I do not care to own that it l)rought tears to my eyes, 
though it is ill to parade such kind of sentiment in print. But I 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



523 



think I will never, while I live, forget that little chorus, iior 
would any man who has ever loved a child or lost one. God 
bless you, O little happy singers ! What a noble and useful 
life is his, who, in place of seeking wealth or honor, devotes' his 
life to such a service as this ! And all through our country, 
thank God ! in quiet humble corners, that busy citizens and 
men of the world never^hear of, there are thousands of such 
men employed in such holy pursuits, with no reward beyond 
that which the fulfilment of duty brings them. Most of these 
children were Roman Catholic. At this tender age the 
priests do not care to separate them from their little Protestant 
brethren : and no wonder. He must be a child-murdering 
Herod who would find the heart to do so. 

After the hymn, the children went through a little Scripture 
catechism, answering very correctly, and all in a breath, as the 
mistress put the questions. Some of them were, of course, too 
young to understand the words they uttered ; but the answers 
are so simple that thty cannot fail to understand them before 
long ; and they learn in spite of themselves. 

The catechism being ended, another song was sung ; and 
now the vicar (who had been Humming the chorus along with 
his young singers, and in spite of an awful and grave coun- 
tenance, could not help showing his extreme happiness) made 
another oration, in which he stated that the gentleman from 
England was perfectly satisfied ; that he would have a good re- 
port of the Dundalk children to- carry home with him ; that the 
day was very fine, and the schoolmistress would probably like 
to take a walk ; and, finally, would the young people give her a 
holiday ? "As many," concluded he, " as will give the school- 
mistress a holiday, hold up their hands ! '' This question was 
carried unanimously. 

But I am bound to say, v/hen the little people were told that 
as many as ^twiddii't like a holiday were to hold up their hands, 
all the little hands went up again exactly as befor^-: by which 
it may be concluded either that the infants did not understand 
his reverence's speech, or that they were just as happy to stay 
at school as to go and play ; and the reader may adopt which- 
ever of the reasons he inclines to. It is probable that both are 
correct. 

The little things are so fond of the school, the vicar told me 
as we walked away from it, that on returning home they like 
nothing better than to 'get a number of their companions who 
don't go to school, and j:o play at infant-school. 

They may be heard singing their hymns in the narrow alleys 
and lunnhle hoiK:c'-> in vvhi-ch thevdweil . and \ was told of one 



r 2 I Tiir. Il-fSFl SKF. TCH BOOK. 

dying who sang his song of '* Oh that will be joyful, joyful," to 
his poor mother w^eeping at his bedside, and promising her that 
they should meet where no parting should be. 

"There was a child in the school," said the vicar, ''whose 
father, a Roman Catholic, was a carpenter by trade, a good 
u'orkman, and earning a considerable weekly sum, but neglect- 
ing his wife and children and spending his earnings in drink. 
We have a song against drunkenness that the infants sing ; and 
one evening, going home, the child found her father excited with 
liquor and ill-treating his wife. The little thing forthwith in- 
terposed between them, told her father what she had heard at 
school regarding the criminality of drunkenness and quarrelling, 
and finished her little sernion with the hymn. The father was 
first amused, then touched ; and the end of it wms that he kissed 
his wife and asked her to forgive him, hugged his child, and 
from that day would always have her in his bed, made her sing 
to him morning and night, and forsook his old haunts for the 
sake of his little companion.*' 

He was quite sober and prosperous for eight months , but 
the vicar at the end of that time began to remark that the child 
looked ragged at school, and p'assing by her mother's house, 
saw the poor woman with a black eye. " If it was any one but 

your husband, Mrs. C , who gave you that black eye," says 

the vicar, "tell me , but if he did it, don't say a. word." The 
woman was silent, and soon after, meeting her husband, the 
vicar took him to task. " You were sober for eight months. 

Now tell me fairly, C ," says he, " were you happier when 

you lived at home with your wife and child, or are you more 
happy now ? " The man owned that he was much h'appier 
former!}^, and the end of the conversation was that he promised 
to go home once more and try the sober life again, and he went 
home and succeeded. 

The vicar continued to hear good accounts of him ; but 
passing one day by his house he saw the wife there looking very 
sad. " Had her husband relapsed ? " — " No, he was dead," 
she said — " dead of the cholera ; but he had been sober ever 
since his last conversation with the clergyman, and had done 
his duty to his family up to the time of his death." " I said to 
the woman," said the good old clergyman, in a grave low voice, 
" ' Your husband is gone now to the place where, according to 
his conduct here, his eternal reward will be assigned him ; and 
let us be thankful to think what a differcmt position he occupies 
now to that which he must have held had not hislittlegirl been 
the means under (tocI of converting him."' 

Our next walk was to the CoutUv Hospilal. the handsome 



THE IRISTI SKETCH BOOK. t;25 

edifice which ornaments tl# Drogheda entrance of the town, 
and which I had remarked on my arrival. Concerning this hos- 
pital, the governors were, when I passed through Dundalk, in 
a state of no small agitation : for a gentleman by the name of 

, who, from being an apothecary's assistant in the place, 

had gone forth as a sort of amateur inspector of hospitals 
throughout Ireland, had thought fit to censure their extrava- 
gance in erecting the new building, stating that the old one was 
fully sufficient to hold fifty patients, and that the public money 

might consequently have been spared. Mr. 's plan for 

the better maintenance of them in general is, that commis- 
sioners should be appointed to direct them, and not county 
gentlemen as heretofore ; the discussion of which question does 
not need to be carried on in this humble work. 

My guide, who is one of the governors of the new hospital, 
conducted me in the first place to the old one — a small dirty 
house in a damp and low situation, with but three rooms to 
accommodate patients, and these evidently not fit to hold fifty, 
or even fifteen patients. The new hospital is one of the hand- 
somest buildings of the size and kind in Ireland — an ornament 
to the town, as the angry commissioner stated, but not after all 
a building of undue cost, for the expense of its erection was 
but 3,000/. ; and the sick of the county are far better accom- 
modated in it than in the damp and unwholesome tenement 
regretted by the eccentric commissioner. 

An English architect, Mr. Smith of Hertford, designed and 
completed the edifice ; strange to say, only exceeding his esti- 
mates by the sum of three-and-sixpence, as the worthy governor 
of the hospital with great triumph told me. The building is 
certainly a wonder of cheapness, and, what is more, so com- 
plete for the purpose for which it was intended, and so hand- 
some in appearance, that the architect's name deserves to be 
published by all who hear it \ and if any country newspaper 
editors should notice this volume, they are requested to make 
the fact known. The house is provided with every con- 
venience for men and women, with all the appurtenances of 
baths, water, gas, airy wards,*and a garden for convalescents ; 
and, below, a dispensary, a handsome board-room, kitchen, and 
matron's apartments, &c. Indeed, a noble requiring a house 
for a large establishment need not desire a handsomer one 
than this, at its moderate price of 3,000/. The beauty of this 
building has, as is almost always the case, created emulation, 
and a terrace in the same taste has been raised in the neigh- 
borhood of the hospital. 

From the ho'=pital wc bent our stepr. to_ the Jr.rtitu.tion : 



526 THE IRISH SKE TCH B O OA^. 

of which place I give below the rul^, and a copy of the course 
of study, and the dietary : leaving English parents to consider 
the fact, that their children can be educated at this place for 
thirteen pounds a year. Nor is there anything in the establish- 
ment savoring of the Dotheboys Hall.* I never saw, in any 

* " Boarders are received from the age of eight to fourteen at 12/. per annum, and il. 
for washing, paid quarterly in advance. / 

" Day scholars are received from the age of ten to twelve at 2/., paid quarterly in ad- 
vance. 

" The Incorporated Society ha.ve abundant cause for believing that the introduction of 
Boarders into tlieir Establishments has produced far more advantageous results to the pub- 
lic than they could, at so early a period, have anticipated ; and that the election of boy's to 
their Foundations only after a fair competition with others of a given district, has had the 
effect of stimulating masters and scholars to exertion and study, and promises to operate 
most beneficially for the advancement of religious and general knowledge. 
"The districts for eligible Candidates are as follow : — 

" Dundalk Institution embraces the counties of Lout?; and Down, because the proper- 
ties which support it lie in this district. 

'"The Pococke Institution, Kilkenny, embraces the counties of Kilkenny, and Tl\ ater- 
ford, for the same Cxiuse. 

"The Ranelagh Institution, the towns of Athlone and Roscommon, and three districts 
in the counties of Galway and Roscommon, which the Incorporated Society hold in fee, or 
from which they receive impropriate tithes, • 

{Signed) " C^sar Otwav, Secretary." 



rrattgetnent 0/ School Btishiess in Dundalk 1 nstitution. 



Ho 




Mondav, Wednesdav* 




and Friday. 


6 to 7 


Ris?, wash, &c. 


J 


7^2 


( Scripture by the Mas- 




( ter, and prayer. 


7V. ' 


8'/2 


Reading, History, &c. 


8V. ' 


9 


Breakfast. 


9 


'\ 


Play. 


10 ' 


10 '/2 


English Grammar. 


to^ ' 


hYa, 


Algebra. 


• 1^ ' 


12 


Scripture. 


12 ' 


I2K 


Writing. 


:2K ' 




( Arithmetic at Desks, 




^ and Book-keeping. 


2 ' 


2^2 


Dinner. 


^% ' 


5 


Plav. 


, 




( Spelling, Mental Arith- 
i metic, and Euclid. 


5 


7/2 


l]i ' 


8 


Supper. 


8 ' 


8M 


Exercise. 
( Scripture by the Mas- 




9 


l ter, and prayer in 
f Schoolroom. 
Retire to bed. 



Tuesday and Thursday. 



Rise, wash, &c. 
( Scripture by the Mas- 
( ter, and prayer. 

Reading, History, &c. 

Breakfast. 

Play. 

Geography. 

Euclid. 
( Lecture on principles of 
\ Arithmetic. 

Writing. 

.. Mensuration. 
Dinner. 
Play. 

( Spelling, Mental Arith- 
I metic, and Euclid. 
Supper. 
Exercise. 

Scripture by the Mas- 
ter, and prayer in 
Schoolroom. 
Retire to bed. 



Saturday. 



Rise, wash, &c. 
) Scripture by the Master, 
( and prayer. 

Reading, History, &c. 

Breakfast. 

Play. 

10 to II, Repetition. 

11 to 12, Use of Globes. 

12 to I, Catechism and 
Scripture by the Cate- 
chist. 

Dinner. 

f The remainder of this day 
is devoted to exercise till 
the hour of Supper, after 
which the Boys assemble 
! in the Schoolroom and 
1 hear a portion of Scrip- 
ture read and explained 
I by the Master, as on other 
I days, and conclude with 
[ prayer- 



The sciences of Navigation and practical Surveying are taught in the Establishment, also 
a selection of the Pupils, who have a taste for it, are instructed in the art of Drawing. 

Dietary. * 

Breakfast.— Stirabout and Milk, every Morning. 

Dinner. — On Sunday and Wednesday, Potatoes and Beef; 10 ounces of the latter to 
each boy. On Monday and Thursdav, Bread and Broth ; J^lb. of the former to each boy. 
On Tuesday, Friday and Saturday, Potatoes and Milk ; 2 lbs. of the former to each boy. 

SuppHR. — %Vo. of Biead with Milk, uniformly, except on Monday and Thursday : o» 
these days, Potatoes and Milk. 



• THE IRISH SKETCJI BOOK. 22'/ 

9 

public school in England, sixty cleaner, smarter, more gentle* 
manlike boys than were here at work. The uppd^' class had 
been at work on Euclid as we came in, and were set, by way of 
amusing the stranger, to perform a sum of compound interest 
of diabolical complication, which, with its algebraic and arith- 
metic solution, was handed up to me by .three or four of the 
pupils , and 1 strove to look as wise as I possibly could. Then 
they went through questions of mental arithmetic with aston- 
ishing correctness and facility ; and finding from the master 
that classics were not taught in the scliool, I took occasion to 
lament this circumstance, saying, with a knowing air, that I 
would like to have examined the lads in a Greek play. 

Classics, then, these young fellows do not get. Meat they 
get but twice a week. Let English parents bear this fact in 
jiiind ; but that the lads are healthy and happy, anybody who 
sees them can have no question ; furthermore, they are well 
instructed in a sound practical education — history, geography, 
mathematics, religion. What a place to know of would this 
be for many a poor half-pay officer, where he may put his chil- 
dren in all confidence that they will be well cared for and 
soundly educated ! Why have we not State-schools in England, 
where, for the prime cost — for a sum which never need exceed 
for a 3-oung boy's maintenance 25/. a year — our children might 
be brought up ? We are establishing national-schools for the 
laborer ; why not give education to the sons of the poor gentry 
— the clergyman whose pittance is small, and would still give 
his son the benefit of a public education; the artist, the ofHcer, 
the merchant's office-clerk, the literary man ? What a benefit 
might be conferred upon all of us if honest charter-schools 
could be established for our children, and where it would be 
impossible for Squeem to make a profit ! * 

Our next day's journey led us,, by half-past ten o'clock, to 
the ancient town of Louth, a little poor village now, but a 
great seat of learning and piety, it is said, formerly, where 
there "stood a university and abbeys, and where Saint Patrick 
worked wonders. Here my kind friend the rector was called 
upon to marry a smart sergeant of police to a pretty l"ass, one 
of the few Protestai^ts who attend his church ; and, the cere- 
mony over, we were invited to the house of the bride's father 
hard by, where the clergyman was bound to cut the cake and 

* Tlie Proprietory Schools of late established have gone far to protect the interests of 
parents and children ; but the masters of tliese schools take boarders, and of course draw 
profits from them. Why make the learned man a beef-and-mutton contractor? It would 
be easy t.i arra;ic;e tii'i efononiy of a school so that there sliould be no possibility of a want 
of confidence, or of peculation, to the detriment of t!ic pupil. 



328 THE IRISH SKE TCH B O OK. 

drink a glass of wine to the health of the new-married couple. 
There was evidently to be a dance and some merriment in the 
course of the evening ; for the good mother of the bride (oh, 
blessed is he who has a good mother-in-law !) was busy at a 
huge fire in the little kitchen, and along the road we met vari- 
ous parties of neatly-dressed people, and several of the ser- 
geant's comrades, who were hastening to the wedding. The 
mistress of the rector's darling I nf ant-School was one of the 
bridesmaids : consequently the little ones had a holiday. 

But he was not to be disappointed of his Infant-School in 
this manner : so, mounting the car again, with a fresh horse, 
we went a very pretty drive of three miles to the snug lone 
school-house of Glyde Farm — near a handsome park, I believe 
of the same name, where the proprietor is building a mansion 
of the Tudor order. 

The pretty scene of Dundalk was here played over again : 
the children sang their little hymns, the good old clergyman 
joined delighted in the chorus, the holiday was given, and the 
little hands lield up, and I looked at more clean bright faces 
and little rosy feet. The scene need not be repeated in print 
but I can understand what pleasure a man must take in the 
daily witnessing of it, and in the growth of these little plants, 
which are set and tended by his care. As we returned to 
Louth, a woman met us wdth a curtsey and expressed her 
sorrow that she had been obliged to withdraw her daughter 
from one of the rector's schools, which the child was vexed at 
leaving too. But the orders of the priest were peremptory \ 
and who can say they were unjust .'' The priest, on his side, 
was only enforcing the rule which the parson maintains as his : 
— the latter will not permit his young flock to be educated 
except upon certain principles and by certain teachers ; the 
former has his own scruples unfortunately also — and so that 
noble and brotherly scheme of National Education falls to the 
ground. In Louth, the national-school was standing by the 
side of the priest's chapel : it is so almost everywhere through- 
out Ireland : the Protestants have rejected, on \ery good motives 
doubtless, the chance of union which the Educational Board 
gave them. Be it so ! if the children of either sect be educated 
apart, so that they be educated, the education scheme will have 
produced its good, and the union will come afterwards. 

The church at Louth stands boldly upon a hill looking 
down on the village, and has nothing remarkable in it but neat- 
ness, except the monument of a former rector, Dr. Little, which 
attracts the spectator's attention from the extreme inappro- 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



529 



p^ateness of the motto 011 the coat-of-arms of the reverend 
defunct. It looks rather unorthodox to read in a Christian 
temple, where a man's bones have the honor to lie — and where, 
if anywhere, humility is requisite — that there is 7niiltum in 
Parvo : " a great deal in Little." O Little, in life you were not 
much, and lo ! you are less now ; why should filial piety engrave 
that pert pun upon your monument, to cause people to laugh 
in a place where they ought to be grave ? The defunct doctor 
built a very .handsome rectory-house, with a set of stables that 
would be useful to a nobleman, but are rather too commodious 
for a peaceful rector who does not ride to hounds ; and it was 
in Little's time, I believe, that the church was removed from 
the old abbey, where it formerly stood, to its present proud 
position on the hill. 

The abbey is a fine ruin, the windows of a good style, the 
tracings or carvings on many of them ; but a great number of 
stones and ornaments were removed formerly to built farm- 
buildings withal, and the place is now as rank and ruinous as 
the generality of Irish burying-places seem to be. Skulls lie in 
clusters amongst nettle-beds by the abbey-walls ; graves are 
only partially covered with rude stones ; a fresh cofhn was 
lying broken in pieces within the abbey ; and the surgeon of 
the dispensary hard by might procure subjects here almost 
without grave-breaking. Hard by the abbey is an interesting 
building. 

The legend in the country goes that the place was built for 
the accommodation of " Saint Murtogh," who lying down to 
sleep here in the open fields, not having any place to house 
under, found to his surprise, on waking in the morning, an 
edifice, which the angels had built. The angelic architecture, 
is of rather a rude kind ; and the village antiquary, who takes 
a pride in showing the place, says that the building was 
erected two thousand years ago. In the handsome grounds 
of the rectory is another spot visited by popular tradition — a 
fairy's ring: a regular mound of some thirty feet in height, 
flat and even on the top, and provided with a winding path 
for the foot-passengers to ascend. Some trees grew on the 
mound, one of which was removed in order to make the walk. 
But the country-people cried out loudly at this desecration, 
and vowed that the " little people " had quitted the country side 
forever in consequence. 

While walking in the town, a woman meets the rector with 
a number of curtsies and compliments, and vows that " 'tis 
your reverence is the friend of the poor, and may the Lord 

34 



S3^ 



TILE IRIS FT SKETCH BOOK. 



preserve you to us and lady ; '" and having poured out blesskgs 
innumerable, concludes by producing a paper for her son that's 
in throuble in England. The paper ran to the effect that 
''We, the undersigned, inhabitants of the parish of Louth, hav^e 
known Daniel Horgan ever since his youth, and can speak 
confidently as to his integrity, piety, and good conduct." In 
fact, the paper stated that Daniel Horgan was an honor to his 
country, and consequently quite incapable of the crime of — 
sack-stealing I think — with which at present he was charged, 
and lay in prison in Durham Castle. The paper had, I should 
think, come down to the poor mother from Durham, with a 
direction ready written to despatch it back again when signed, 
ajid was evidently the work of one of those benevolent indi- 
dduals in assize-towns, who, following the profession of the 
law, delight to extricate unhappy young men of whose inno- 
cence (from various six-and-eightpenny motives) they feel con- 
vinced. There stood the poor mother, as the rector examined 
the document, with a huge wafer in her hand, ready to forward 
it so soon as it was signed : for the truth is that '* We, the 
undersigned," were as yet merely imaginary. 

" You don't come to church," says the rector. " I know 
nothing of you or your son : why don't you go to the priest .'' " 

'* Oh, your reverence, my son's to be tried next Tuesday," 
whimpered the woman. She then said the priest was not in 
the way, but, as we had seen him a few minutes before, re- 
called the assertion, and confessed that she had been to the 
priest and that he would not sign ; and fell to prayers, tears, 
and unbounded supplications to induce the rector to give his 
signature. But that hard-hearted divine, stating that he had 
not known Daniel Horgan from his youth upwards, that he, 
Could not certify as to his honesty or dishonesty, enjoined the 
w^oman to majce an attempt upon the R. C. curate, to whose 
handwriting he would certify if need were. 

The upshot of the mattfcr was that the woman returned with 
a certificate from the R. C. curate as to her son's good behavior 
while in the village, and the rector certified that the handwriting 
was that of the R. C. clergymen in question, and the woman 
popped her big red wafer into the letter and went her way. 

Tuesday is passed long ere this : Mr. Horgan's guilt or 
innocence is long since clearly proved, and he celebrates the 
latter in freedom, or expiates the former at the mill. Indeed, I 
don't know that there was any call to introduce his adventures to 
the public, except perhaps it may be goqd to see how in this little 
distant Irish village the blood of jife is running. Here goes a 



THE IRISH SKE TC/I B GO A '. ^31 

happy party to a marriage, and the parson pra\'s a '' G'od bless 
you ! " upon them, and the world begins for them. Yonder 
lies a stall-fed rector in his tomb, flaunting over his nothingness 
his pompous heraldic motto : and yonder lie the fresh tragments 
of a nameless deal coffin, which any foot may kick over. 
Presently you hear the clear voices of little children praising 
God : and here comes a mother wringing her hands and asking 
for succor for her lad, who was but a child the other day. 
Such mot us animoT-wn atqiie hcec certamhia tania are going on in 
an hour of an October day, in a little pinch of clay in the 
county Louth. 

Perhaps, being in the moralizing strain, the honest surgeon 
at the dispensary might come in as an illustration. He in- 
habits a neat humble house a storey higher than his neighbors', 
but with a thatched roof. He relieves a thousand patients 
yearly at the dispensar)^, he visits seven hundred in the parish, 
he supplies the medicines gratis ; and receiving for these ser- 
vices the sum of about one hundred pounds yearly, some 
county economists and calculators are loud against the extrava- 
gance of his salarv, and threaten his removal. All these in- 
dividuals and their histories we presently turn our backs upon, 
for, after all, dinner is at five o'clock, and we have to see the 
new road to Dundalk, which the county has lately been 
making. 

Of this undertaking, which shows some skilful engineering 
— some gallant cutting of rocks and hills, and filling of valleys, 
with a tall and handsome stone bridge thrown across the river, 
and connecting the high embankments on which the new road 
at that place is formed — I can say little, except that it is a 
vast convenience to the country, and a great credit to the sur- 
veyor and contractor too : for the latter, though a poor man, 
and losing heavily by his bargain, has yet refused to mulct his 
laborers of their wages ; and, as cheerfully as he can. still pays 
them their shilling a day. 



CPIAPTER XXVn. 

NEWRY, ARMAGH, BELFAST FROM DUNDALK TO NEWRY. 

My kind host gave orders to the small ragged boy that 
drove the car to take '* particular care of the little gentleman , " 
and the car-boy, grinning in appreciation of the joke, drove oflf 



53-^ 



TTIE IRISH SKETCH BOCK. 



at his best pace, and landed Lis cargo at Newry after a pleasant 
two hours' drive. The country for the most part is wild, but 
not gloomy ; the mountains round about are adorned with 
woods and gentlemen's seats ; and the car-boy pointed out one 
hill — that of Slievegullion, which kept us company all the way 
— as the highest hill in Ireland. Ignorant or deceiving car- 
boy ! I have seen a dozen hills, each the highest in Ireland, j 
in my way through the country, of which the inexorable Guide- 
book gives the measurement and destroys the claim. Well, 
it was the tallest hill, in the estimation pf the car-boy ; and in 
tins respect the world is full of car-boys. Has not every mo- 
ther of a family a Slievegullion of a son, who, according to her 
measurement, towers above all other sons 1 Is not the patriot, 
who belie\ es himself equal to three Frenchmen, a car-boy in 
lieart ? There was a kind young creature, with a chilcl in her 
lap, that evidently held this notion. She paid the child a series 
Ol compliments, which would have led one to fancy he was an 
angel from heaven at the least ; and her husband sat gravely 
by, very silent, with his arms round a barometer. 

Beyond these there were no incidents or characters of note, 
wxcept an old or,tler that they said was ninety years old, and 
watered the horse at a lone inn on the road. " Stop ! " cries 
this wonder of years and rags, as the car, after considerable 
parley, got under weigh. The car-boy pulled up, thinking a 
fresh passenger was coming out of the inn. 

" Stop., till one of the g^mtlemen gives me so?nething,'" says the 
old man, coming slowly up with us: which speech created a 
laugh, and got him a penny : he received it without the least 
thankfulness, and went away grumbling to his pail. 

Newry is remarkable as being the only town I have seen 
which had no cabin suburb : strange to say, the houses begin 
all at once, handsomely coated and hatted with stone and slate; 
and if Dundalk was prosperous, Newry is better still. Such a 
sight of neatness and comfort is exceedingly welcome to an 
English traveller, who, moreover, finds himself, after driving 
through a plain bustling clean street, landed at a large plain 
comfortable inn, where iDusiness seems to be done, where there 
are smart waiters to receive him, and a comfortable warm coffee- 
room that bears no traces of dilapidation. 

What tlie merits of the cuisine may be I can't say for the 
information of travellers ; a gentleman to whom I had brouglit 
a letter from Dundalk taking care to provide me at his own 
table, accompanving me pre\-i )i'.'^,]y to \i it llit^ Jii-is of .the 
town. A river divides it, and t'.io counties oi AL-m:r;!j and 



THE IRISH SKKTCII nOOK\ 



533 



Down : the river runs into the sea at Carlingford Bay, and is 
connected by a canal with Lough Neagh, and thus with the 
North of Ireland; Steamers to Liverpool and Glasgow sail 
continually. There are mills, foundries, and manufactories, of 
which the Guide-book will give particulars ; and the town of 
13,000 inhabitants is the busiest and most thriving that I have 
yet seen in Ireland. 

Our first walk was to the church : a large and handsome 
building, although built in the unlucky period when the Gothic 
style was coming into vogue. Hence one must question the 
propriety of many of the ornaments, though the whole is mas- 
sive, well-finished, and stately. Near the church stands the 
Roman Catholic chapel, a very fine building, the work of the 
same architect, Mr. Duff, who erected the chapel at Dundalk ; 
but, like almost all other edifices of the kind in Ireland that I 
have seen, the interior is quite unfinished, and already so dirty 
and ruinous, that one would think a sort of genius for dilapida- 
tion must have been exercised in order to bring it to its present 
condition. There are tattered green-baize doors to enter at, 
a dirty clay floor, and cracked plaster walb, wdth an injunction 
to the public not to spit on the floor. Maynooth itself is 
scarcely more dreary. The architect's work, however, does him 
the highest credit . the interior of the church is noble and 
simple in style ; and one can't but grieve to see a fine w-ork of 
art, that might have done good to the country, so defaced and 
ruined as this is. 

The Newry poor-house is as neatly ordered and comfortable 
as any house, public or private, in Ireland : the same look of 
health which was so pleasant to see among the Naas children 
of the union-house was to be remarked here : the same care 
and comfort for the old people, Of able-bodied there were but 
few in the house ; it is in winter that there are most applicants 
for this kind of relief ; the sunshine attracts the women out of 
the place, and the harvest relieves it of the men. Cleanliness, 
the matron said, is more intolerable to most of the inmates 
than any other regulation of the house ; and instantly on 
quitting the house they relapse into their darling dirt, and of 
course at their periodical return are subject to the unavoidable 
initiatory lustration. 

Newry has many comfortable and handsome public build- 
ings : the streets have a business-like look, the shops and 
people are not too poor, and the southern grandiloquence is 
not shown here in the shape of fine words for small wares. 
Even tiie beggars are not so numerous, I fancy, or so coaxing 



534 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 



and wheedling in their talk. Perhaps, too, among the gentry, 
the same moral change may be remarked, and they seem more 
downright and plain in their manner ; but one must not pre- 
tend to speak of national characteristics from such a small 
experience as a couple of evenings' intercourse may give. 

Although not equal in natural beauty to a hundred other 
routes which the traveller takes in the South, the ride from 
Newry to Armagh is an extremely pleasant one, on account of 
the undeniable increase of prosperity which is visible through 
the country. Well-tilled fields, neat farm-houses, well-dressed 
people, meet one everywhere, and people and landscape alike 
have a plain, hearty, flourishing lock. 

The greater part of Armagh has the aspect of a good stout 
old English town, although round about the steep on which the 
cathedral stands (the Roman Catholics have taken possession 
of another hill, and are building an opposition cathedral on 
this eminence) there are some decidedly Irish streets, and that 
dismal combination of house and pigsty which is so common 
in Munster and Connaught. 

But the main streets, though not fine, are bustling, sub- 
stantial, and prosperous ; and a fine green has some old trees 
and some good houses,'' and even handsome stately public 
buildings, round about it, that remind one of a comfortable 
cathedral city across the water. 

The cathedral service is more completely performed here 
than in any English town, I think. The church is small, but 
extremely neat, fresh and handsome — almost too handsome ; 
covered with spick-and-span gilding and carved-work in the 
style of the thirteenth century ; ever\^ pew as smart and well- 
cushioned as my lord's own seat in the country church ; and 
for the clergy and their chief, stalls and thrones quite curious 
for their ornament and splendor. The Primate with his blue 
ribbon and badge (to whom the two clergymen bow reverently 
as, passing between them, he enters at the gate of the altar 
rail) looks like a noble Prince of the Church ; and I had heard 
enough of his magnificent charity and kindness to look with 
reverence at his lofty handsome features. 

Will it be believed that the sermon lasted only for twenty 
minutes ? Can this be Ireland .<* I think this wonderful cir- 
cumstance impressed me more than any other with the differ- 
ence between North and South, and, having the Primate's own 
countenance for the opinion, may confess a great admiration 
for orthodoxy in this particular. 

A beautiful monument to Archbishop Stuart, b}- Chantrey/ 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 53^ 

a magnificent stained window, containing the arms of the 
clergy of the diocese (in the very midst of which I was glad to 
recognize the sober old family coat of the kind and venerable 
rector of Louth); and numberless carvings and decorations, 
will please the lover of church architecture here. I must con- 
fess, however, that in my idea the cathedral is quite too com- 
plete. It is of the twelfth century, but not the least venerable. 
It is as neat and trim as a lady's drawing-room. It wants a 
hundred years at least to cool the raw colors of the stones, and 
to dull the brightness of the gilding: all which benefits, no 
doubt, time will bring to pass, and future Cockneys setting off 
from London Bridge after breakfast in an aerial machine may 
come to hear the morning service here, and not remark the 
faults which have struck a too susceptible tourist of the nine- 
teenth century. 

Strolling round the town after service, I saw more decided 
signs that Protestantism was there in the ascendant. I saw no 
less than three different ladies on the prowl, dropping religious 
tracts at various doors ; and felt not a little ashamed to be seen 
by one of them getting into a car with bag and baggage, being 
bound for Belfast. 

The ride of ten miles from Armagh to Portadown was not 
the prettiest, but one of the pleasantest drives I have had in 
Ireland, for the country is well cultivated along the whole of the 
road, the trees in plenty, and villages and neat houses always in 
sight. The little farms, with their orchards and comfortable 
buildings, were as clear and trim as could be wished : they are 
mostly of one storey, with long thatched roofs and shining 
windows, such as those that may be seen in Normandy and 
Picardy. As it was Sunday evening, all the people seemed to 
be abroad, some sauntering quietly down the roads, a pair of 
girls here and there pacing leisurely in a field, a little group 
sealed under the trees of an orchard, which pretty adjunct to 
the farm is very common in this district ; and the crop of 
apples seemed this year to be extremely plenty. The physi- 
ognomy of the people too has quite changed ; the girls have 
their hair neatly braided up, not loose over their faces as in the 
south ; and not only are bare feet very rare, and stockings 
extremely neat and white, but I am sure I saw at least a dozen 
good silk gowns upon the women along the road, and scarcely 
one which was not clean and in good order. The men for the 
most part figured in jackets, caps, and trousers, eschewing the 
old well of a hat which covers the popular head at the other 



536 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

end of the island, the breeches, and the long ill-made tail-coat 
The people's faces are sharp and neat, not broad, lazy, knowing- 
looking, like that of many a shambling Diogenes who may be 
seen lounging before his cabin in Cork or Kerry. As for the 
cabins, they have disappeared ; and the houses of the people 
may rank decidedly as cottages. The accent, too, is quite dif 
ferent ; but this is hard to describe in print. The peopldi 
speak with a Scotch twang, and, as I fancied, much morei 
simply and to the point. A man gives you a downright answer,! 
without any grin or joke, or attempt at flattery. To be sure,, 
these are rather early days to begin to judge of national char-t 
acteristics ; and very likely the above distinctions have beeni 
drawn after profoundly studying a Northern and a Southernii 
waiter at the inn at Armagh. 

At any rate, it is clear that the towns are vastly improved,! 
the cottages and villages no less so ; the people look active and( 
well-dressed ; a sort of weight seems all at once to be takeni 
from the Englishman's mind on entering the province, when het 
finds himself once more looking upon comfort and activity, andc 
resolution. What is the cause of this improvement t Protest 
tantism is, more than one Church-of-England man said to me ; 
but, for Protestantism, would it not be as well to read Scotchism ?! 
— meaning thrift, prudence, perseverance, boldness, and commontl 
sense : with which qualities any body of men, of any Christian^ 
denomination, would no doubt prosper. \ 

The little brisk town of Portadown, with its comfortable! 
unpretending houses, its squares and market-place, its pretty^ 
quay, with craft along the river, — a steamer building on the; 
dock, close to mills and warehouses that look in a full state of i 
prosperity, — was a pleasant conclusion to this ten miles' drive, 
that ended at the newly opened railway-station. The distance 
hence to Belfast is twenty-five miles ; Lough Neagh may be^ 
seen at one point of the line, and the Guide-book says that'] 
the station-towns of Lurgan and Lisburn are extremely pic^ 
turesque ; but it was night when I passed by them, and after a 
journey of an hour and a quarter reached Belfast. 

That city has been discovered by another eminent Cockney 
traveller (for though born in America, the dear old Bow-bell 
blood must run in the veins of Mr. N. P. Willis), and I have 
met, in the periodical works of the country, with repeated angry 
allusions to his description of Belfast, the pink heels of the 
chamber-maid who conducted him to bed (what business had I 
he to be looking at the young woman's legs at all.?) and his* 
wrath at the beggary of the town and the laziness of the inhabi'l 



THE IRISH SKE TCII B OK. 537 

mts, as marked by a line of dirt running along the walls, and 
lowing where they were in the habit of lolling. 

These observations struck nie as rather hard when applied 

IBelfast, through possibly pink heels and beggary might be 

emarkcd in other cities of the kingdom ; but the town of 

Belfast seemed to me really to be as neat, prosperous, and hand 

Dme a city as need be seen ; and, with respect to the inn, that 

which I stayed, " Kearn's," was as comfortable and well- 

rdered an establishment as the most fastidious Cockney can 

esire, and with an advantage which some people perhaps do 

ot care for, that the dinners which cost seven shillings at 

.ondon taverns are here served for half a crown ; but, I must 

epeat here, in justice to the public, what I stated to Mr, 

Villiam the waiter, viz. : that half a pint of port-wine does con- 

ain more than two glasses — at least it does in happy, happy 

ngland. * ^ Only, to be sure, here the wine is good, 

vhereas the port-wine in England is not port, but for the most 

Dart an abominable drink of which it would be a mercy only to 

iw^ us two glasses : which, however, is clearly wandering from. 

he subject in hand. 

They call Belfast the Irish Liverpool. If people are for 
calling names, it would be better to call it the Irish London at 
once — the chief city of the kingdom at any rate. It looks 
hearty, thriving, and prosperous, as if it had money in its 
pockets and roast-beef for dinner : it has no pretensions to 
fashion, but looks mayhap better in its honest broadcloth than 
some people in their shabby brocade. The houses are as hand- 
some as at Dublin, with this advantage, that the people seem 
to live in them. They have no attempt at ornament for the 
most part, but are grave, stout, red-brick edifices, laid ou^at 
four angles in orderly streets and squares. 

The stranger cannot fail to be struck (and haply a little 
frightened) by the great number of meeting-houses that deco- 
rate the town, and give evidence of great sermonizing on Sun- 
days. These buildings do not affect the Gothic, like many of 
the meagre edifices of the Established and the Roman Catho- 
lic churches, but have a physiognomy of their own — a thick- 
set citizen look. Porticoes have they, to be sure, and orna- 
ments Doric, Ionic, and what not ? but the meeting-house peeps 
through all these classical friezes and entablatures ; and 
though one reads of " Imitations of the Ionic Temple of 
Ilissus, near Athens," the classic temple is made to assume a 
bluff, downright, Presbyterian air, which M^ould astonish the 
original builder, doubtless. The churches of the Establishment 



^^S THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 

are hanuajme and stately. The Catholics are building a brick 
cathedral, no doubt of the Tudor style : — the present chapel, 
flanked by the national-schools, is an exceedingly unprepos- 
sessing building of the Strawberry Hill or Castle of Otranto 
Gothic ■ the keys and mitre figuring in the centre — " The cross- 
keys and night-cap," as a hardhearted Presbyterian called 
them to me, with his blunt humor. 

The three churches are here pretty equally balanced ; 
Presbyterians 25,000, Catholics 20,000, Episcopalians 17,000. 
Each party has two or more newspaper organs ; and the wars 
between them are dire and unceasing, as the reader may im-' 
agine. For whereas in other parts of Ireland where Catholics* 
and Episcopalians prevail, and the Presbyterian body is too' 
small, each party has but one opponent to belabor : here the 
Ulster politician, whatever may be his way of thinking, has the 
great advantage of possessing two enemies on whom he may 
exercise his eloquence ; and in this triangular duel all do their 
duty nobly. Then there are subdivisions of hostility. For 
the Church there is a High Church and a Low Church jour- 
nal ; for the Liberals there is a " Repeal " journal and a " No- 
repeal " journal ; for the Presbyterians there are yet more 
varieties of journalistic opinion, on which it does not become a 
stranger to pass a judgment. If the N'orthcrd Whig says that 
the Banner of Ulster " is a polluted rag, which has hoisted the 
red Banner of falsehood " (which elegant words may be found in 
the first-named journal of the 13th October), let us be sure the 
Banfter has a compliment for the Northern Whig in return ; if 
the " Repeal " Vindicator and the priests attack the Presbyterian 
journals and the " homo missions," the reverend gentlemen of 
Geneva are quite as ready with the pen as their brethren of 
Rome, and not much more scrupulous in their language than 
the laity. When I was in Belfast, violent disputes were raging 
between Presbyterian and Episcopalian Conservatives with re- 
gard to the Marriage Rill ; between Presbyterians and Catholics 
on the subject of the " home missions ; " between the Liberals 
and Conservatives, of course. "Tbank God," for instance, 
writes a " Repeal " journal, " that the honor and power oj 
Ireland are not involved in the disgraceful Afghan war!'' — a 
sentiment insinuating Repeal and something more ; disowning, 
not merely this or that Ministry, but the sovereign and her 
jurisdiction altogether. But details of these quarrels, religious 
or political, can tend to edify but few readers out of the 
country. Even in it| as there are some nine shades of politico- 
religious differences, an observer pretending to impartiality mus' 



THE IRISH SKkTCII BOOK. 53^ 

necessarily displease eight parties, and almost certainly the 
whole nine ; and the reader who desires to judge the politics of 
Belfast must study for himself. Nine journals, publishing four 
hundred numbers in a year, each number containing about as 
much as an octavo volume : these, and the back numbers of 
former years, sedulously read, will give the student a notion of 
the subject in question. And then, after having read the state- 
ments on either side, he must ascertain the truth of them, by 
which time more labor of the same kind will have grown upon 
him, and he will have attained a good old age. 

Amongst the poor, the Catholics and Presbyterians a^e ^aid 
to go in a pretty friendly manner to the national-schools ; but 
among the Presbyterians themselves it appears there are great 
differences and quarrels, by which a fine institution, the Belfast 
Academy, seems to have suffered considerably. It is almost 
the only building in this large and substantial place that bears, 
to the stranger's eye, an unprosperous air. A vast building, 
standing fairly in the midst of a handsome green and place, and 
with snug, comfortable red-brick streets stretching away at neat 
right angles all around, the Presbyterian College looks hand- 
some enough at a short distance, but on a nearer view is found 
in a woeful state of dilapidation. It does not possess the su- 
preme dirth and filth of Maynooth — that can but belong to one 
place, even in Ireland ; but the building is in a dismal state of 
unrepair, steps and windows broken, doors and stairs battered. 
Of scholars I saw but a few, and these were in the drawing 
academy. The fine arts do not appear as yet to flourish in Bel- 
fast. The models from which the lads were copying were not 
good : one was copying a bad copy of a drawing by Prout ; one 
was coloring a print. The ragged children in a German 
national-school have better models before them, and are made 
acquainted with truer principles of art and beauty. 

Hard by is the Belfast Museum, where an exhibition of 
pictures was in preparation, under the patronage of the Belfast 
Art Union. Artists in all parts of the kingdom had been 
invited to send their works, of which the Union pays the car- 
riage \ and the porters and secretary were busy unpacking cases, 
in which I recognized some of the works which had before 
figured on the walls of the London Exhibition rooms. 

The book-shops which I saw in this thriving town said much 
for the religious disposition of the Belfast public : there were 
numerous portraits of reverend gentlemen, and their works of 
every variety : — " The Sinner's Friend," " The Watchman on 
the Tower," "The Peep of Day," "Sermons delivered at 



540 THE IRISH SKETCH BCfOK. 

Bethesda Chapel," by so-and-so ; with hundreds of the neat 
little gilt books with bad prints, scriptural titles, and gilt edges, 
that come from one or two serious publishing houses in Lon- 
don, and in considerable numbers from the neighboring Scotch 
shores. As for the theatre, with such a public the drama can 
be expected to find but little favor ; and the gentleman who 
accompanied me in my walk, and to whom I am indebted for 
many kindnesses during my stay, said not only that he had 
never been in the playhouse, but that he never heard of any one 
going thither. I found out the place where the poor neglected 
Dramatic Muse of Ulster hid herself ; and was of a party of six 
in the boxes, the benches of the pit being dotted over with 
about a score more. Well, it was a comfort to see that the 
gallery was quite full, and exceedingly happy and noisy : they 
stamped, and stormed, and shouted, and clapped in a way that 
was pleasant to hear. One young god, between the acts, 
favored the public with a song — extremely ill sung certainly, 
but the intention was everything ; and his brethren above 
stamped in chorus with roars of delight. 

As for the piece performed, it was a good old melodrama 
of the British sort, inculcating a thorough detestation of vice 
and a warm sympathy with suffering virtue. The serious are 
surely too hard upon poor play-goers. We never for a moment 
allow rascality to triumph beyond a certain part of the third act : 
we sympathize with the woes of young lovers — her in ringlets and 
a Polish cap, him in tights and a Vandyke collar ; we abhor 
avarice or tyranny in the person of " the first old man " with 
the white wig and red stockings, or of the villain with the roaring 
voice and black whiskers ; we applaud the honest wag (he is a 
good fellow in spite of his cowardice) in his hearty jests at the 
tyrant before mentioned ; and feel a kindly sympathy with all 
mankind as the curtain falls over all the characters in the group, 
of which successful love is the happy centre. Reverend gentle- 
men in meeting-house and church, shout against the immor- 
alities of this poor stage, and threaten all play-goers with the 
fate which is awarded to unsuccessful plays, should try and 
bear less hardly upon us. 

An artist — who, in spite of the Art Union, can- scarcely, I 
should think, flourish in a place that seems devoted to preach- 
ing, politics, and trade — has somehow found his way to this 
humble little theatre, and decorated it with some exceedingly 
pretty scenery — almost the only indication of a taste for the 
fine arts which I have found as yet in the country. 

A fine night-exhibition in the town is that of the huge spin- 



THE IRISH SKE TCII BOOK. ^41 

iiing-mills which surround it, and of which the thousand win- 
dows are lighted up at nightfall, and may be seen from almost 
all quarters of the city. 

A gentleman to whom I had brought an introduction good 
naturedly left his work to walk with me to one of these mills, 
and stated by whom he had been introduced to me to the mill- 
proprietor, Mr. Mulholland. " T/iat recommendation," said' 
Mr. Mulholland gallan.tly^ ''is welcome anywhere." It was 
from my kind friend Mr..Lever. What a privilege some men 
have, who can sit quietly in their studies and make friends all 
the world over ! 

There are nearly five hundred girls employed in it. They Work 
in huge long chambers, lighted by numbers of windows, hot with 
steam, buzzing and humming witlUiundreds of thousands of whirl- 
ing wheels, that all take their motion from a steam-engine which 
lives apart in a hot cast- iron temple of its own, from which it 
communicates with the innumerable machines that the five 
hundred girls preside over. They have seemingly but to take 
away the work when done — the enormous monster in the cast- 
iron room does it all. He cards the flax, and combs it, and 
spins it, and beats it, and twists it : the five hundred girls 
stand by to feed him, or take the material from him, when he 
has had his will of it. There is something frightful in the vast- 
ness as in the minuteness of this power. Every thread writhes 
and twirls as the steam-fate orders it,-r-every thread, of which 
it would take a hundred to make the thickness of a hair. 

I have seldom, I think, seen more good looks than amongst 
the young women employed in this plaoe. They work for 
twelve hours daily, in rooms of which the heat is intolerable to 
a stranger ; but in spite of it they looked gay, stout, and 
healthy ; nor were their forms much concealed by the very 
simple clothes they wear while in the mill. 

The stranger will be struck by the good looks not only of 
these spinsters, but of almost all the young women in the 
streets. I never saw a town where so many women are to be 
met — so many and so pretty — with and without bonnets, with 
good figures, in neat homely shawls and dresses. The grisettes 
of Belfast are among the handsomest ornaments of it; and as 
good, no doubt, and irreproachable in morals as their sisters m 
the rest of Ireland. 

Many of the merchants' counting-houses are crowded in 
little old-fashioned '' entries," or courts, such as one sees about 
the Bank in London. In and about these, and in the principal 
Streets in the daytime, is a: great activity, and homely unpre- 



542 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

tending bustle. The men have a business look, too ; and one 
sees very few flaunting dandies, as in Dublin. The shopkeep- 
ers do not brag upon their signboards, or keep " emporiums," 
as elsewhere, — their places of business being for the most part 
homely ; though one may see some splendid shops, which are 
not to be surpassed by London. The docks and quays are 
busy with their craft and shipping, upon the beautiful borders 
of the Lough ; — the large red warehouses stretching along the 
shores, with ships loading, or unloading, or building, hammers 
clanging, pitch pots flaming and boiling, seamen cheering in 
the ships, or lolling lazily on the shore. The life and move- 
ment of a port here give the stranger plenty to admire and 
observe. And nature has likewise done everything for the 
place — surrounding it with picturesque hills and water ; for 
which latter I must confess I was not very sorry to leave the 
town behind me, and its mills, and its meeting-houses, and its 
commerce, and its theologians, and its politicians. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

BELFASy TO THE CAUSEWAY. 

The Lough of Belfast has a reputation for beauty almost as 
great as that of the Bay of Dublin ; but though, on the day I 
left Belfast for Larne, the morning was fine, and the sky clear 
and blue above, an envious mist lay on the water, which hid all 
its beauties from the dozen of passengers on the Larne coach. 
All we could see were ghostly-looking silhouettes of ships 
gliding here and there through the clouds ; and I am sure the 
coachman's remark was quite correct, that it was a pity the day 
was so misty. I found myself, before 1 was aware, entrapped 
into a theological controversy with two grave gentlemen out- 
side the coach — another fog, which did not subside much 
befere we reached Carrickfergus. The road from the Ulster 
capital to that little town seemed meanwhile to be extremely 
lively : cars and omnibuses passed thickly peopled. For some 
miles along the road is a string of handsome country-houses, 
belonging to the rich citizens of the town ; and we passed by 
neat-looking churches and chapels, factories and rows of cot- 
tages clustered round them, like viflages of old at the foot of 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



543 



feudal castles. Furthermore it was hard to see, for the mist 
which lay on the water had enveloped the mountains too, and 
we only had a glimpse or two of smiling comfortable fields and 
gardens, 

Carrickfergus rejoices in a real romantic-looking castle, 
jutting bravely into the sea, and famous as a background for a 
picture. It is of use for little else now, luckily ; nor has it 
been put to any real warlike purposes since the day when 
honest Thurot stormed, took, and evacuated it. Let any 
romancer who is in want of a hero peruse the second volume, 
or it may be the third, of the " Annual Register," where the 
adventures of that gallant fellow are related. He was a gentle- 
man, a genius, and, to crown all, a smuggler. He lived for 
some time in Ireland, and in England, in disguise ; he had 
love-passages and romantic adventures ; he landed a body of 
his countrymen on these shores, and died in the third volume, 
after a battle gallantly fought on both sides, but in which vic- 
tory rested with the British arms. What can a novelist want 
more ? William III. also landed here ; and as for the rest, 
" M'Skimin, the accurate and laborious historian of the town, 
informs us that the founding of the castle is lost in the depths 
of antiquity." It is pleasant to give a little historic glance at 
a place as one passes through. The above facts may be re- 
lied on as coming from Messrs. Curry's excellent new Guide- 
book ; with the exception of the history of Mons. Thurot, 
which is "private information," drawn years ago from the 
scarce work previously mentioned. By the way, another excel- 
lent companion to the traveller in Ireland is the collection of 
the " Irish Penny Magazine," which may be purchased for a 
guinea, and contains a mass of information regarding the cus- 
toms and places of the country. Willis's work is amusing, as 
everything is, written by that lively author, and the engravings 
accompanying it as unfaithful as any ever made. 

Meanwhile asking pardon for this double digression, which 
has been made while the guard-coachman is delivering his 
mail-bags — w^hile the landlady stands looking on in the sun, her 
hands folded a little below the waist — while a company of tall 
burly*troops from the castle has passed by, "surrounded" by a 
very mean, mealy-faced, uneasy-looking little subaltern--while 
the poor epileptic idiot of the town, wallowdng and grinning in 
the road, and snorting out supplications for a halfpenny, has 
tottered away in possession of t' o coin : — meanwhile, fresh 
horses are brought out, and the small boy who acts behind the 
coach makes an unequal and disagreeable tootooing on a horn 



^44 '^HE IRISH SKETCH BOCX. 

kept to warn sleepy carmen and celebrate triumphal entries 
into and exits from cities. As the mist clears up, the country 
shows round about wild but friendly : at one place we passed a 
village where a crowd of well-dressed people were collected at 
an auction of farm-furniture, and many more figures might be 
seen coming over the fields and issuing from the mist. The 
owner of the carts and machines is going to emigrate to 
America. Presently we come to the demesne of Red Hall, 
" through which is a pretty drive of upwards of a mile in 
length : it contains a rocky glen, the bed of a mountain stream 
— which is perfectly dry, except in winter — and the woods about 
it are picturesque, and it is occasionally the resort of summer- 
parties of pleasure." Nothing can be more just than the first 
part of the description, and there is very little doubt that the 
latter paragraph is equally faithful ; — with which we come to 
Larne, a " most thriving town," the same authority says, but a 
most dirty and narrow-streeted and ill-built one. Some of the 
houses reminded one of the south. A benevolent fellow-pas- 
senger said that the window was '* a convenience." And here, 
after a drive of nineteen miles upon a comfortable coach, we 
were transferred with the mail-bags to a comfortable car that 
makes the journey to Ballycastle. There is no harm in saying 
that there was a very pretty smiling buxom young lass for a 
travelling companion ; and somehow, to a lonely person, the 
landscape always looks prettier in such society. The " Antrim 
coast-road," which we now, after a few miles, begin to follow, 
besides being one of the most noble and gallant works of art 
that is to be seen in any country, is likewise a route highly 
picturesque and romantic ; the sea spreading wide before the 
spectator's eyes upon one side of the route, the tall cliffs of 
limestone rising abruptly above him on the other There are 
in the map of Curry's Guide-book points indicating castles and 
abbey ruins in the vicinity of Glenarm ; and the little place 
looked so comfortable, as we abruptly came upon it, round a 
rock, that I was glad to have an excuse for staying, and felt an 
extreme curiosity with regard to the abbey and the castle. 

The abbey only exists in the unromantic shape of a wall ; 
the castle, however, far from being a ruin, is an antique in the 
most complete order — an old castle repaired so as to look like 
new, and increased by modern wings, towers, gables, and ter- 
races, so extremely old that the whole forms a grand and nn- 
posing-looking baronial edifice, towering above the little town 
which it seems to protect, and with which it is connected by a 
bridge and a severe-looking armed tower and gate. In the 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. ^4^ 

town is a town-house, with a campanile in the Italian taste, and 
a school Of chapel opposite in the early English ; so that the 
inhabitants can enjoy a considerable architectural variety. A 
grave-looking church, with a beautiful steeple, stands amid 
some trees hard by a second handsome bridge and the little 
quay ; and here, too, was perched a poor little wandering theatre 
(gallery id., pit 2^.), and proposing that night to play " Bom- 
bastes Furioso, and the Comic Bally of Glenarm in an Uproar." 
1 heard the thumping of the drum in the evening ; but, as at 
Roundwood, nobody patronized the poor players. At nine 
o'clock there was not a single taper lighted under their awning, 
and my heart (perhaps it is too susceptible) bled for Fusbos. 

The severe gate of the castle was opened by a "kind, good- 
natured old porteress, instead of a rough gallowglass with a 
battle-axe and yellow shirt (more fitting guardian of so stern a 
postern), and the old dame insisted upon my making an appli- 
cation to see the grounds of the castle, which request was very 
kindly granted, and afforded a delightful half-hour's walk. The 
grounds are beautiful, and excellently kept ; the trees in their 
autumn livery of red, yellow, and brown, except some stout 
ones that keep to their green summer clothes, and the laurels 
and their like, who wear pretty much the same dress all the 
year round. The birds were singing with the most astonishing 
vehemence in the dark glistening shrubberies ; but the only 
sound in the walks was that of the rakes pulling together the 
falling leaves. There was of these walks one especially, 
flanked towards the river by a turreted wall covered with ivy, 
and having on the one side a row of lime-trees that had turned 
quite yellow, while opposite them was a green slope, and a 
quaint terrace-stair, and a long range of fantastic gables, towers, 
and chimneys ; — there was, I say, one of these walks which 
Mr. Cattermole would hit off with a few strokes of his gallant 
pencil, and which I could fancy to be frequented by some of 
those long-trained, tender, gentle-looking young beauties whom 
Mr. Stone loves to design. Here they come, talking of love 
in a tone that is between a sigh and a whisper, and gliding in 
rustling shot silks over the fallen leaves. 

• There seemed to be a good deal of stir in the little port, 
where, says the Guide-book, a couple of hundred vessels take 
in cargoes annually of the produce of the district. Stone and 
lime are the chief articles exported, of which the cliifs for 
miles give an unfailing supply ; and, as one travels the moun- 
tains at night, the kilns may be seen lighted uo in the lonely 
places, and flaring red in the darkness. 



546 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



If the road from Larne to Glenarm is beautiful, the coast 
route from the latter place to Cushendall is still more so ; and, 
except peerless Westport, I have seen nothing in Ireland so 
picturesque as this noble line of coast scenery. The new road, 
luckily, is not yet completed, and the lover of natural beauties 
had better hasten to the spot in time, ere by flattening and im- 
proving the road, and leading it along the sea-shore, half the 
magnificent prospects are shut out, now visible from along the 
mountainous old road ; which according to the good old fashion, 
gallantly takes all the hills in its course, disdaining to turn 
them. At three miles' distance, near the village of Cairlough, 
Glenarm looks more beautiful than when you are close upon 
it ; and, is the car travels on to the stupendous Garron Head, 
the traveller, looking back, has a view of the whole line of coast 
southward as far as Isle Magee, with its bays and white villages, 
and tall precipitous cliffs, green, white, and gray. Eyes left, 
you may look with wonder at the mountains rising above, or 
presently at the pretty park and grounds of Drumnasole. Here, 
near the woods of Nappan, which are dressed in ten thousand 
colors — ash-leaves turned yellow, nut-trees red, birch-leaves 
brown, lime-leaves speckled over with black spots (marks of a 
disease which they will never get over) stands a school-house 
that looks like a French chfiteau, having probably been a villa 
in former days, and discharges as we pass a cluster of fair-haired 
children, that begin running madly down the hill, their fair hair 
streaming behind them. Down the hill goes the car, madly 
too, and you wonder and bless your stars that the horse does 
not fall, or crush the children that are running before, or you 
that are sitting behind. Every now and then, at a trip of the 
horse, a disguised lady's-maid, with a canary-bird in her lap and 
a vast anxiety about her best bonnet in the bandbox, begins to 
scream : at which the car-boy grins, and rattles down the hill 
only the quicker. The road, which almost always skirts the 
hill-side, has been torn sheer through the rock here and there : 
an immense work of levelling, shovelling, picking, blasting, 
filling, is going on along the whole line. As I was looking up 
a vast cliff, decorated with patches of green here and there at 
its summit, and at its base, where the sea had beaten until now, 
with long, thin, waving grass, that I told a grocer, my neighbor, 
was like mermaid's hair (though he did not in the least coin- 
cide in the simile) — as I was looking up the hill, admiring two 
goats that were browsing on a little patch of green, and two 
sheep perched yet higher (I had never seen such agility in mut- 
ton)— as, I say once more, I was looking at these phenomena, 



I 



THE IRISH SKETCH HOOK 



547 



the grocer nudges me and says '* Look on ///is sit/,' — ///a/'.^ Scot- 
Icmd yon^ If ever this book reaches a second echtion, a son 
net shall be inserted in this place, describing the author's feel- 
ings on HIS FIRST VIEW OF ScoTLANT\ Meanwhile, the Scotch 
mountains remain undisturbed, looking blue and solemn, far 
away in the placid sea. 

Rounding Garron Head, we come upon the inlet which is 
called Red i'ay, the shores and sides of which are of a red 
clay, that has taken the place of limestone, and towards which, 
between two noble ranges of mountains, stretches a long green 
plain, forming, together with the hills that protect it and the 
sea that washes it, one of the most beautiful landscapes of this 
most beautiful country. A fair writer, whom the Guide-book 
quotes, breaks out into strains of admiration in speaking of 
this district ; calls it *' Switzerland in miniature," celebrates 
its mountains of Glenariff and Lurgethan, and lauds, in terms 
of equal admiration, the rivers, waterfalls, and other natural 
beauties that lie within the glen. 

The writer's enthusiasm*regarding this tract of country is 
quite warranted, nor can any praise in admiration of it be too 
high ; but alas ! in calling a place " Switzerland in miniature," 
do we describe it .'' In joining together cataracts, valleys, rush- 
ing streams, and blue mountains, with all the emphasis and 
picturesqueness of which type is capable, we- cannot get near 
to a copy of Nature's sublime countenance ; and the writer can't 
hope to describe such grand sights so as to make them visible 
to the fireside reader, but can only, to the best of his taste and 
experience, warn the future traveller where he may look out for 
objects to admire. I think this sentiment has been repeated a 
score of times in this journal ; but i# comes upon one at every 
new display of beauty and magnificence, such as here the 
Almighty in his bounty has set before us ; and every such 
scene seems to warn one, that it is not made to talk about too 
much, but to think of and love, and be grateful for. 

Rounding this beautiful bay and valley, we passed by some 
caves that penetrate deep into the red rock, and are inhabited 
— one by a blacksmith, whose forge was blazing in the dark ; 
one by cattle ; and one by an old woman that has sold whiskey 
here for time out of mind. The road then passes under an 
arch cut in the rock by the same spirited individual who has 
cleared away many of the difiiculties in the route to Glenarm, 
and beside a conical hill, where for some time previous have 
been visible the ruins of the " ancient ould castle " of Red Bay. 
At a distance, it looks very grand upon its height ; but on com- 



^4$ THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

ing close it has dwindled down to a mere wall, and not a high 
one. Hence quickly we reached Cushendall, where the grocer's 
family are on the look-out for him . the driver begins to blow 
his little bugle, and the disguised lady's-maid begins to smooth 
her bonnet and hair. i 

At this place a good dinner of fresh whiting, broiled bacon,i 
and small beer was served up to me for the sum of eightpence,^' 
while the lady's maid in question took her tea. " This town is^ 
full of Papists, said her ladyship, with an extremely genteel air; 
and, either in consequence of this, or because she ate up one 
of the fish, which she had clearly no right, to, a disagreement! 
arose between us, and we did not exchange another word forr 
the rest of the journey. The road led us for fourteen miles by » 
wild mountains, and across a fine aqueduct to Ballycastle ; butt 
it was dark as we left Cushendall, and it was difficult to see i 
more in the gray evening but that the country was savage and 1 
lonely, except where the kilns were lighted up here and there ■ 
in the hills, and a shining river might be seen winding in the 
dark ravines. Not far from Ballycastle lies a little old ruin,' 
called the Abbey of Bonamargy : by it the Margy river runs into! 
the sea, upon which you come suddenly ; and on the shore are! 
some tall buildings and factories, that looked as well in the moon-J 
light as if they had not been in ruins : and hence a fine avenu( 
of limes leads to Ballycastle. They must have been planted at 
the time recorded in the Guide-book, when a mine was dis- 
covered near the town, and the works and warehouses on the 
quay erected. At present, the place has little trade, and half 
a dozen carts with apples, potatoes, dried fish, and turf, seem 
to contain the commerce of the market. 

A picturesque sort (Jf vehicle is said to be going much 
out of fashion in the country, the solid wheels giving place 
to those common to the rest of Europe. A fine and edify 
ing conversation took place between the designer and the 
owner one of these. " Stand still for a minute, you and 
the car, and I will give you twopence ! " " What do you 
want to do with it ? " says the latter. " To draw it ! 
says he, with a wild look of surprise. " And is \X. you'll draw 
it ? " "I mean I want to take a picture of it : you know what 
a picture is ! " '' No, T don't." " Here's one," says I, showing 
him a book. " Oh, faith, sir," says the carman, drawing back 
rather alarmed, "I'm no scholar!" And he concluded by 
saying, " Will you buy the turf, or will you notV^ By which 
straightforward question he showed himself to be a real practi- 
cal man of sense ; and, as he got an unsatisfactory reply to 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. r^^ 

is query, he forthwith gave a lash to his pony and dechned 
5 wait a minute longer. As for the twopence, he certainly 
cepted that handsome sum, and put it into his pocket, but 
ith an air of extreme wonder at the transaction, and of con- 
2mpt for the giver ; which very likely was perfectly justifiable, 
have seen men despised in genteel companies with not half 
o good a cause. 

In respect to the fine arts, I am bound to say that the peo- 
)le in the South and West showed much more curiosity and 
nterest with regard to a sketch and its progress than has been 
;hown by the badaiids of the North ; the former looking on by 
lozens and exclaiming, " That's Frank Mahony's house ! "' or 
Look at Biddy Mullins and the child 1 " or " He's taking off 
the chimney now ! " as the case may be ; whereas, sketching 
in the North, I have collected no such spectators, the people 
not taking the slightest notice of the transaction. 

The little town of Ballycastle does not contain much to 
occupy the traveller : behind the church stands a ruined old 
mansion with round turrets, that must have been a stately 
tower in former days. The town is more modern, but almost 
as dismal as the tower. A little street behind it slides off into 
a potato-field — the peaceful barrier of the place ; and hence I 
could see the tall rock of Bengore, with the sea beyond it, and 
a pleasing landscape stretching towards it. 

Dr. Hamilton's elegant and learned book has an awful pic- 
ture of yonder head of Bengore ; and hard by it the Guide-book 
says is a coal-mine, where Mr. Barrow found a globular stone 
hammer, which, he infers, was used in the coal-mine before 
weapons of iron were invented. The former writer insinuates 
that the mine must have been worked more than a thousand 
years ago, " before the turbulent chaos of events that succeed- 
ed the eighth century." Shall I go and see a coal-mine that 
may have been worked a thousand years since .'' Why go see 
it ? says idleness. To be able to say that I have seen it. 
Sheridan's advice to his son here came into my mind ;* and I 
shall reserve a description of the mine, and an antiquarian dis- 
sertation regarding it, for publication elsewhere. 

Ballycastle must not be left without recording the fact that 
one of the snuggest inns in the country is kept by the post- 
master there ; who has also a stable full of good horses for 
travellers who take his little inn on the way to the Giant's 
Causeway. 

* " I want to go into a coal-mine," says Tom Sheridan, " in order to say I have been 
there." " Well, then, say so," replied the admirable father. 



550 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



The road to the Causeway is bleak, wild, and hilly. The | 
cabins along the road are scarcely better than those of Kerry, *« 
the inmates as ragged and more fierce and dark-looking. I J 
never was so j^estered by juvenile beggars in the dismal village 
of Ballintoy. A crowd of them rushed after the car, calling 
for money in a fierce manner, as if it was their right . dogs as 
fierce as the cliildren came yelling after the vehicle ; and the 
faces which scowled out of the black cabins were not a whit 
more good-humored. We passed by one or two more clumps of 
cabins, with their turf and corn-stacks lying together at the 
foot of the hills; placed there for the convenience of the 
children, doubtless, who can thus accompany the car either 
way, and shriek out their, " Bonny gantleman, gi'e us a ha'p'ny." 
A couple of churches, one with a pair of its pinnacles blown 
off, stood in the dismal open country, and a gentleman's house 
here and there : there were no trees about them, but a brown 
grass round about — hills rising and falling in front, and the sea 
beyond. The occasional view of the coast was noble ; wild 
Bengore towering eastwards as we went along ; Raghery Island 
before us, in the steep rocks and caves of which Bruce took 
shelter when driven from yonder Scottish coast, that one sees 
stretching blue in the north-east. 

I think this wild gloomy tract through which one passes is 
a good prelude for what is to be the great sight of the day, and 
got my mind to a proper state of awe by the time we were near 
the journey's end. Turning away shorewards by the fine house 
of Sir Francis Macnaghten, I went towards a lone handsome 
inn, that stands close to the Causeway. The landlord at Bally- 
castle had lent me Hamilton's book to read on the road ; but I 
had not time then to read more than half a dozen pages of it. 
They described how the author, a clergyman distinguished as a 
man of science, had been thrust out of a friend's house by the 
frightened servants one wild night, and butchered by some White- 
boys who were waiting outside and called for his blood. I had 
been told at Belfast that there was a corpse in the inn : was it 
there now ? It had driven off, the car-boy said, " in a handsome 
hearse and four to Dublin the whole way." It was gone, but I 
thought the house looked as if the ghost were there. See yonder 
are the black rocks stretching to Portrush : how leaden and gray 
the sea looks ! how gray and leaden the sky ! You hear the 
waters roaring evermore, as they have done since the beginning 
of the world. The car drives up with a dismal grinding noise 
of the wheels to the big lone house : there's no smoke in the 
chimneys ; the doors are locked. Three savage-looking men 



THE fR/S// SKETCH HOOK. 



55^ 



rush after the car : are they the men who took out Mr. Hamil- 
ton — took him out and butchered him in the moonUght ? Is 
everN'body, I wonder, dead in that big house ? Will they let us 
in before those men are up ? Out comes a pretty smiling girl, 
with a curtsey, just as the savages are at the car, and you are 
ushered into a very comfortable room ; and the men turn out 
to be guides. Well, thank heaven it's no worse ! I had fifteen 
pounds still left ; and, when desperate, have no doubt should 
fio-ht like a lion. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE giant's causeway COLERAINE PORTRUSH. 

The traveller no sooner issues from the inn by a back door, 
which he is informed will lead him straight to the Causeway, 
than the guides pounces upon him, with a dozen rough boat- 
men who are likewise lying in wait ; and a crew of shrill beggar- 
boys with boxes of spars, ready to tear him and each other to 
pieces seemingly, yell and bawl incessantly round him. " I'm 
the guide Miss Henry recommends," shouts one. " I'm Mr.. 
Macdonald's guide," pushes in another. " This way," roars a 
third, and drags his prey down a precipice ; the rest of them 
clambering and quarrelling after. I had no friends : I was 
perfectly helpless. I wanted to walk down to the shore by 
myself, but they would not let me, and I had nothing for it but 
to yield myself into the hands of the guide who had seized me, 
who hurried me down the steep to a little wild bay, flanked on 
each side by rugged cliffs and rocks, against which the waters 
came tumbling, frothing, and roaring furiously. Upon some of 
these black rocks two or three boats were lying : four men 
seized a boat, pushed it shouting into the water, and ravished 
me into it. We had slid between two rocks, where the channel 
came gurgling in : we were up one swelling wave that came in 
a huge advancing body ten feet above us, and were plunging 
madly down another, (the descent causes a sensation in the 
lower regions of the stomach which it is not at all necessary 
here to describe,) before I had leisure to ask myself why the 
deuce I was in that boat, with four rowers hurrooing and 
bounding madly from one huge liquid mountain to another— 



552 THE IRISH SK^ TCH B O OK. 

four rowers whom I was bound to pay. I say, the query came 
quahnishly across me why the devil I was there, and why not 
walking calmly on the shore. 

The guide began pouring his professional jargon into my 
ears. " Every one of them bays," says he, "has a name (take 
my place, and the spray won't come over you) ; that is Port 
Noffer, and the next Port na Gauge ; them rocks is the 
Stookawns (for every rock has its name as well as every bay) ; 
and yonder — give way, my boys, — hurray, we're over it now : 
has it wet you much, sir ? — that's the little cave : it goes five 
hundred feet under ground, and the boats goes into it easy of 
a calm day." 

" Is it a fine day or a rough one now ? " said I ; the internal 
disturbance going on with more severity than even 

" It's betwixt and between ; or, I may say, neither one nor 
the other. Sit up, sir. Look at the entrance of the cave. 
Don't be afraid, sir : never has an accident happened in any 
one of these boats, and the most delicate ladies has rode in 
them on rougher days than this. Now, boys, pull to the big 
cave. That, sir, is six hundred and sixty yards in length, 
though some says it goes for miles inland, where the people 
sleeping in their houses hear the waters roaring under them." 

The water was tossing and tumbling into the mouth of the 
little cave. I looked, — for the guide would not let me alone 
till I did, — and saw what might be expected : a black hole of 
some forty feet high, into which it was no more possible to see 
than into a mill-stone. " For heaven's sake, sir," says I, " if 
you've no particular wish to see the mouth of the big cave, put 
about and let us see the Causeway and get ashore." This was 
done, the guide meanwhile telling some story of a ship of the 
Spanish Armada having fired her guns at two peaks of rock, 
then visible, which the crew mistook for chimney-pots — what 
benighted fools these Spanish Armadilloes must have been : it 
is easier to see a rock than a chimney-pot ; it is easy to know 
that chimney-pots do not grow on rocks. — " But where, if you 
please, is the Causeway ? " 

" That's the Causeway before you," says the guide. 

" Which ? " 

" That pier which you see jutting out into the bay, right 
a-head." 

" Mon Dieu ! and have I travelled a hundred and fifty miles 
to see ihafi " 

I declare upon my conscience, the barge moored at Hunger- 
food market is a more majestic object, and seems to occupy as 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



553 



mucn space. As for telling a man that the Causeway is merely 
a part of the sight ; that he is there for the purpose of examin- 
ing the surrounding scenery ; that If he looks to the westward 
he will see Portrush and Donegal Head before him ; that the 
cliffs immediately in his front are green in some places, black 
in others, interpersed with blotches of brown and streaks of 
verdure ; — what is all this to a lonely individual lying sick in a 
boat, between two immense waves that only give him moment- 
ary glimpses of the land in question, to show that it is fright- ■* 
fully near, and yet you are an hour from it ? They won't let 
you go away — that cursed guide will tell out his stock of 
legends and stories. The boatmen insist upon your looking at 
boxes of " specimens," which you must buy of them ; they laugh 
as you grow paler and paler ; they offer you more and more 
•' specimens ; " even the dirty lad who pulls number three, and 
is not allowed by his comrades to speak, puts in his oar, and 
hands you over a piece of Irish diamond (it looks like half- 
sucked alicompayne), and scorns you. " Hurray, lads, now for 
it, give way ! " how the oars do hurtle in the rowlocks, as the 
boat goes up an aqueous mountain, and then down into one of 
those cursed maritime valleys where there is no rest as on 
shore ! 

At last, after they had pulled me enough about, and sold 
me all the boxes of specimens, 1 was permitted to land at the 
spot whence we set out, and whence, though we had been row- 
ing for an hour, we had never been above five hundred yards 
distant. Let all Cockneys take warning from this ; let the 
solitary one caught issuing from the back door of the hotel, 
shout at once to the boatmen to be gone — that he will have none 
of them. Let him, at any rate, go first down to the water to de- 
termine whether it be smooth enough to allow him to take any 
decent pleasure by riding on its surface. For after all, it must 
be remembered that it is pleasure we come for — that we are 
not obliged \o take those boats. — Well, well ! I paid ten shillings 
for mine, and ten minutes before would cheerfully have paid 
five pounds to be allowed to quit it : it was no hard bargain 
after all. As for the boxes of spar and specimens, I at once, 
being on terra firma, broke my promise, and said I would see 
them all first. It is wrong to swear, I know ; but some- 
times it relieves one so much ! • 

The first acton shore was to make a sacrifice to Sanctissima 
Tellus ; offering up to her a neat and becoming Taglioni coat, 
bought for a guinea in Covent Garden only three months back. 
I sprawled on my back on the smoothest of rocks that is, and 



524 '^^^ IRISH SKE TCH B O OR. 

tore the elbows to pieces '• the guide picked me up ; the 
boatmen did not stir, for they had had their will of me ; the 
guide alone picked me up; I say, and bade me follow 
him. We went across a boggy ground in one of the little 
bays, round which rise the green walls of the cliff, termi- 
nated on either side by a black crag, and the line of the shore 
washed by the poluphloisboiotic, nay, the poluphloisboiotat- 
otic sea. Two beggars stepped over the bog after us howl- 
ing for money, and each holding up a cursed box of specimens. 
No oaths, threats, entreaties, would drive these vermin away ; 
for some time the whole scene had been spoilt by the incessant 
and abominable jargon of them, the boatmen, and the guides. 
[ was obliged to give them mone}^ to be left in quiet, and if, as 
no doubt will be the case, the Giant's Causeway shall be a 
still greater resort of travellers than ever, the country must put 
policemen on the rocks to keep the beggars away, or fling them 
in the v/ater when they appear. 

And now, by force of money, having got rid c. the sea and 
land beggars, you are at liberty to examine at your leisure the 
wonders of the place. There is not the least need for a guide 
to attend the stranger, unless the latter have a mind to listen 
to a parcel of legends, which may be well from the mouth of a 
wild simple peasant who believes in his tales, but are odious 
from a dullard who narrates them at the rate of sixpence a lie. 
Fee him and the other beggars, and at last you are left tranquil 
to look at the strange scene with your own eyes, and enjoy 
your own thoughts at leisure. 

That is, if the thoughts awakened by such a scene may be 
called enjoymenf ; but for me, I confess, they are too near 
akin to fear to be pleasant ; and I don't know that I would de- 
sire to change that sensation of awe and terror which the hour's 
walk occasioned, for a greater familiarity with this wild, sad, 
lonely jDlace. The solitude is awful. I can't understand how 
those chattering guides dare to lift up their voices here, and cry 
for money. 

It looks like the beginning of the world, somehow : the sea 
looks older than in other places, the hills and rocks strange, 
and formed differently from other rocks and hills — as those 
vast dubious monsters were formed who possessed the earth 
before man. The hill-tops are shattered mto a thousand crag- 
ged fantastical shapes ; the water comes swelling into scores of 
little strange^ creeks, or goes off with a leap, roaring into those 
mysterious caves yonder, which penetrate who knows how far 
into our common world ? The savage rock-sides are painted 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 555 

)f a hundred colors. Does the sun ever shine here ? When 
he world was moulded and fashioned out of formless chaos, 
his must have been the bit over — a remnant of chaos ! Think 
Df that ! — it is a tailor's simile. Well, I am a Cockney : I wish 
[ were in Pall Mall ! Yonder is a kelp-burner : a lurid smoke 
:rom his burning kelp rises up to the leaden sky, and he looks 
as naked and fierce as Cain. Bubbling up out of the rocks at 
the very brim of the sea rises a little crystal spring : how comes 
it there ? and there is an old gray hag beside, who has been 
there for hundreds and hundreds of years, and there sits and 
sells whiskey at the extremity of creation ! How do you dare 
to sell whiskey there, old woman t Did you serve old Saturn 
with a glass when he lay along the Causeway here ? In reply, 
she s^ays, she has no change for a shilling : she never has ; but 
her whiskey is good. 

This is not a description of the Giant's Causeway (as some 
clever critic will remark), but of a Londoner there, who is by 
no means so interesting an object as the natural curiosity in 
question. That single hint is sufficient ; I have not a word 
more to say. "If," says he, "you cannot describe the scene 
lying before us — if you cannot state from your personal obser- 
vation that the number of basaltic pillars composing the Cause- 
way has been computed at about forty thousand, .which vary in 
diameter, their surface presenting the appearance of a tesse- 
lated pavement of polygonal stones — that each pillar is formed 
of several distinct joints, the convex end of the one being ac- 
curately fitted in the concave of the next, and the length of the 
joints varying from five feet to four inches — that although the 
pillars are polygonal, there is but one of three sides in the 
whole forty thousand (think of that !), but three of nine sides, 
and that it may be safely computed that ninety-nine out of one 
hundred pillars have either five, six, or seven sides ; — if you 
cannot state something useful, you had much better, sir, retire 
and get your dinner." 

Never was summons more gladly obeyed. The dinner must 
be ready by this time ; so, remain you, and look on at the awful 
scene, and copy it down in words if you can. If at the end of 
the trial you are dissatisfied with your skill as a painter, and 
find that the biggest of your words cannot render the hues and 
vastness of that tremendous swelling sea — of those lean soli- 
tary crags standing rigid along the shore, where they have been 
watching the ocean ever since if was made — of those gray 
towers of Dunluce standing upon a leaden rock, and looking as 
if some old, old princess, of old, old fairy times, were dragon- 



c 5 6 "^HE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 

guarded within — of yon flat stretches of sand where the Scotd 
and Irish mermaids hold conference — come away too, anif" 



prate no more about the scene ! There is that in nature, deal'f 
Jenkins, which passes even our powers. We can feel the beaut |[ 
of a magnificent landscape, perhaps : but we can describe a lef '" 
of mutton and turnips better. Come, then, this scene is for oui 
betters to depict. If Mr. Tennyson were to come hither for r 
month, and brood over the place, he might in some of thosi' 
lofty heroic lines which the author of the " Morte d' Arthur- 
knows how to pile up, convey to the reader a sense of thi 
gigantic desolate scene. What! you, too, are a poet? Weill 
then, Jenkins, stay ! but believe me, you had best take mvi 
advice, and come off. 

The worthy landlady made her appearance with the politese 
of bows and an apology, — for what does the reader think a lad}I 
should apologize in the most lonely rude spot in the world i* — 
because a plain servant-woman was about to bring in th(i 
dinner, the waiter being absent on leave at Coleraine ! C( 
heaven and earth ! where will the genteel end ? I replies 
philosophically that I did not care twopence for the plainness 
or beauty of the waiter, but that it was the dinner I looked top 
the frying whereof made a great noise in the huge lonely house ; 
and it must be said, that though the lady was plain, the repast? 
was exceedingly good. " I have expended my little all," says'! 
the landlady, stepping in with a speech after dinner, " in thet 
building of this establishment ; and though to a man its profits; 
may appear small, to such a being as I am it will bring, I trust,! 
a sufficient return :" and on my asking her why she took thee 
place, she replied that she had always, from her earliest youth,) 
a fancy to dwell in that spot, and had accordingly realized hen 
wish by building this hotel — this mausoleum. In spite of the( 
bright fire, and the good dinner, and the good wine, it was^ 
impossible to feel comfortable in the place; and when the can 
wheels were heard, I jumped up with joy to take my departure^ 
and forget the awful lonely shore, and that wild, dismal, genteel ' 
inn. A ride over a wide gusty country, in a gray, misty, half- 
moonlight, the loss of a wheel at Bushmills, and the escapei 
from a tumble, were the delightful varieties after the late awful 1 
occurrences. " Such a being " as I am, would die of loneliness - 
in that hotel ; and so let all brother Cockneys be ?varned. 

Some time before we ' came to it, we saw the long line of I 
mist that lay above the Bann, and coming through a dirty, 
suburb of low cottages, passed down a broad street with gas \ 



THE IRISH SICETCH BOOR. 



SS7 



d lamps in it (thank heaven, there are people once more 1), 
nd. at length drove up in state, across a gas-pipe, in a market- 
lace, before an hotel in the town of Coleraine, famous for 
nen and for Beautiful Kitty, who must be old and ugly now, 
or it's a good five-and-thirty years since she broke her pitcher, 
ccording to Mr. Moore's account of her. The scene as we 
ntered the Diamond was rather a lively one — a score of little 
f.talls were brilliant with lights ; the people were thronging in 
he place making their Saturday bargains; the town clock 
pegan to toll nine ; and hark ! faithful to a minute, the horn 
)f the Derry mail was heard tootooing, and four commercial 
gentlemen, with Scotch accents, rushed into the hotel at the 
jame time with myself. 

Among the beauties of Coleraii:!e may ^e mentioned the price 
pf beef, which a gentleman told me may be had for fourpence 
a pound ; and I saw him purciiase an excellent codfish for a shil- 
ling. I am bound, too, to state for the benefit of aspiring Radi- 
cals, what two Conservative citizens of the place stated to me, 
viz. ; — that though there were two Conservative candidates then 
canvassing the town, on account of a vacancy in the repre- 
sentation, the voters were so truly liberal that they would elect 
any person of any other political creed, who would simply bring 
money enough to purchase their votes. There are 220 voters, 
it appears ; of whom it is not, however, necessary to " argue " 
with more than fift}^, who alone are open to conviction , but 
as parties are pretty equally balanced, the votes of the quin- 
quagint, of course, carry an immense weight with them. Well, 
this is all discussed calmly standing on an inn-steps, with a 
jolly landlord and a professional man of the town to give the 
information. So, heaven bless us, the ways of London are 
beginning to be known even here. Gentility has already taken 
up her seat in the Giant's Causeway, where she apologizes for 
the plainness of her look : and, lo ! here is bribery, as bold as 
in the most civilized places — hundreds and hundreds of miles 
away from St. Stephen's and Pall Mall. I wonder, in that 
litde island of Raghery, so wild and lonely, whether civilization 
is beginning to dawn upon them ? — whether they bribe j^nd are 
genteel ? But for the rough sea of yesterday, I think I would 
have fled thither to make the trial. ^ 

The town of Coleraine, with a number of cabin suburbs 
belonging to it, lies picturesquely grouped on the Bann river : 
and the whole of the little city was echoing with psalms as I 
walked through it on the Sunday morning. The piety of the 
people seems remarkable ; some of the inns even will not 



558 THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 

receive travellers on Sunday ; and this is written in an hotel, 
of which every room is provided with a Testament, containing 
an injunction on the part of the landlord to consider this 
world itself as only a passing abode. Is it well that Boniface 
should furnish his guest with Bibles as well as bills, and some- 
times shut his door on a traveller, who has no other choice but 
to read it on a Sunday ? I heard of a gentleman arriving from 
shipboard at Kilrush on a Sunday, when the pious hotel- 
keeper refused him admittance ; and some more tales, which 
to go into would require the introduction of private names 
and circumstances, but would tend to show that the Protestant 
of the North is as much priest-ridden as the Catholic of the 
South : — priest and old woman-ridden, for there are certain 
expounders of doctrine in our church, who are not, I believe, 
to be found in the church of Rome ; and woe betide the 
stranger who comes to settle in these parts, if his " serious- 
ness " be not satisfactory to the heads (with false fronts to most 
of them, of the congregations. 

Look at that little snug harbor of Portrush ! a hideous new 
castle standing on a rock protects it on one side, a snug row of 
gentlemen's cottages curves round the shore facing northward, 
a bath-house, an hotel, more smart houses, face the beach west- 
ward, defended by another mound of rocks. In the centre of 
the little town stands a new-built church ; and the whole place 
has an air of comfort and neatness which is seldom seen in 
Ireland. One would fancy that all the tenants of these pretty 
snug habitations, sheltered in this nook far away from the 
world, have nothing to do but to be happy, and spend their little 
comfortable means in snug hospitalities among one another, and 
kind little charities among the poor. What does a man in 
active life ask for more than to retire to such a competence, to 
such a snug nook of the world ; and there repose with a stock 
of healthy children round the fireside, a friend within call, and 
the means of decent hospitality wherewith to treat him ? 

Let any one meditating this pleasant sort of retreat, and 
charmed with the look of this or that place as peculiarly suited 
to his purpose, take a special care to understand his neighbor- 
hood first, before he commit himself, by lease-signing or house- 
buying. It IS not sufficient that you should be honest, kind- 
hearted, hospitable, of good family — what are your opinions 
upon religious subjects ? Are they such as agree with the 
notions of old Lady This, or Mrs. That, who are the patronesses 
of the village ? If not, woe betide you ! you will be shunned 
by the rest of the society, thwarted in your attempts to do good, 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



559 



whispered against over evangelical bohea and serious muffins. 
Lady This will inform every new arrival that you are a repro- 
bate, and lost, and Mrs. That will consign you and your daugh- 
ters, and your wife (a worthy woman, but alas ! united to that 
sad worldly man !) to damnation. The clergyman who partakes 
of the muffins and bohea before mentioned, will very possibly 
preach sermons against you from the jDulpit : this was not done 
at Portstewart to my knowledge, but I have had the pleasure 
of sitting under a minister in Ireland who insulted the very 
patron who gave him his living, discoursing upon the sinfulness 
of partridge-shooting, and threatening hell-fire as the last "' meet" 
for fox-hunters ; until the squire, one of the best and most 
charitable resident landlords in Ireland, was absolutely driven 
out of the church where his fathers had worshipped for hun- 
dreds of years, by the insults of this howling evangelical in- 
quisitor. 

So much as this I did not hear at Portstewart ; but I was 
told that at yonder neat-looking bath-house a dyiiig wo7?iaii 
was denied a bath on a Sunday. By a clause of the lease by 
I which the bath-owner rents his establishment, he is forbidden 
1 to give baths to any one on the Sunday. The landlord of the 
inn, forsooth, shuts his gates on the same day, and his con- 
science on week days will not allow him to supply his guests 
with whiskey or ardent spirits. I was told by my friend, that 
because he refused to subscribe for some fancy charity, he 
^ received a letter to state that " he spent more in one dinner 
than in charity in the course of the year." My worthy friend 
did not care to contradict the statement, as why should a man 
deign to meddle with such a lie ? But think how all the fishes, 
and all the pieces of meat, and all the people who went in and 
out of his snug cottage by the sea-side must have been watched 
by the serious round about! The, sea is not more constant 
roaring there, than scandal is whispering. How happy I felt, 
while hearing these histories (demure heads in crimped caps 
peeping over the blinds at us- as we walked on the beach), to 
think I am a Cockney, and don't know the name of the man 
who lives next door to me ! 

I have heard various stories, of course from persons of 
various ways of thinking, charging their opponents with hypoc- 
risy, and proving the charge by statements clearly showing 
that the priests, the preachers, or the professing religionists in 
question, belied their professions woefully by their practice. 
But in matters of religion, hypocrisy is so awful a charge to 
make against a man, that I think it is almost unfair to mention 



560 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

even the cases in which it is proven, and which, — as, pray Goii 
they are but exceptional, — a person should be very careful cl[ 
mentioning, lest they be considered to apply generally. Tartu^ 
has been always a disgusting play to me to see, in spite of it'"' 
sense and its wit : and so, instead of printing, here or else:" 
where, a few stories of the Tartuffe kind which I have hearn'' 
in Ireland, the best way will be to try and forget them It r, 
an awful thing to say of any man walking under God's sun b 
the side of us, " You are a hypocrite, lying as you use th 
Most Sacred Name, knowing that 3'ou lie while you use it. 
Let it be the privilege of any sect that is so minded, to imagin 
that there is perdition in store for all the rest of God's cren 
tures who do not think v/ith them : but the easy countercharg 
of hypocrisy, which the world has been in the habit of makin; 
in its turn, is surely just as fatal and bigoted an accusation a 
any that the sects make against the world. 

What has this disquisition to do apropos of a walk on tnr- 
beach at Portstewart ? Why, it may be made here as well an 
in other parts of Ireland, or elsewhere as well, jDcrhaps, as here 
It is the most priest-ridden of countries ; Catholic clergymei 
lord it over their ragged flocks, as Protestant preachers, lay 
and clerical, over their more genteel co-religionists. Bound tc' 
inculcate peace and good-will, their whole life is one of enmitj 
and distrust. 

Walking away from the iittle bay and the disquisition whiclj 
has somehow been raging there, we went across some wilcf 
dreary highlands to the neighboring little town of Portrush' 
where is a neat town and houses, and a harbor, and a new: 
church too, so like the last-named place that I thought for r 
moment we had only made a round, and were back again ati' 
Portstewart. Some gentlemen of the place, and my guide, whc^ 
had a neighborly liking for it, showed me the new church, anr 
seemed to be well pleased with the edifice ; which is, indeed, 
a neat and convenient one, of a rather irregular Gothic. The 
best thing about the church, I think, was the history of it. The 
old church had lain some miles off, in the most inconvenient 
part of the parish, whereupon the clergyman and some of the 
gentry had raised a subscription in order to build the present 
church. The expenses had exceeded the estimates, or the 
subscriptions had fallen short of the sums necessary ; and the 
church, in consequence, was opened with a debt on it, whiclif 
the rector and two more of the gentry had taken on theii 
shoulders. The living is a small one, the other two gentlemei 
going bail for the edifice not so rich as to think light of th 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



S6' 



rment of a couple of hundred pounds beyond their previous 
)scriptions — the lists are therefore still open ; and the 
rgyman expressed himself perfectly satisfied either that he 
uld be reimbursed one day or other, or that he would be 
e to make out the payment of the money for which he 
od engaged. Most of the Roman Catholic churches that 
lave seen through the country have been built in this way, — 
un when money enough was levied for constructing the 
nidation, elevated by degrees as fresh subscriptions came in, 
d finished — by the way, I don't think I have seen one fin- 
ed ; but there is something noble in the spirit (however cer- 
n economists may cavil at it) that leads people to commence 
se jdIous undertakings with the firm trust that " Heaven will 
ovide." 

Eastward from Portrush, we came upon a beautiful level 
nd which leads to the White Rocks, a famous place of resort 
r the frequenters of the neighboring watering-places. Here 
e caves, and for a considerable distance a view of the wild 
^d gloomy Antrim coast as far as Bengore. Midway, jutting 
to the sea (and I was glad it was so far off), was the Cause- 
ay ; and nearer, the gray towers of Dunluce. 

Looking north, were the blue Scotch hills and the neigh- 

Dring Raghery Island. Nearer Portrush there were two 

)cky islands, called the Skerries, of which a sportsman of our 

arty vaunted the capabilities, regretting that my stay was not 

r, so that I might land and shoot a few ducks there. 

his unlucky lateness of the season struck me also as a most 

'flicting circumstance. He said also that fish were caught off 

le island — not fish good to eat, but very strong at pulling, 

ager of biting, and affording a great deal of sport. And so 

e turned our backs once more upon the Giant's Causeway, 

nd the grim coast on which it lies ; and as my taste in life 

iads me to prefer looking at the smiling fresh face of a young 

heerful beauty, rather than at the fierce countenance and high 

matures of a dishevelled Meg Merrilies, I must say again that 

\ was glad to turn my back on this severe part of the Antrim 

oast, and my steps towards Derry. 

36 



562 THE IRISrl SKETCH BOOlC 



I 



CHAPTER XXX. 

PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 

Between Coleraine and Derry there is a daily car (besides 
one or two occasional queer-looking coaches), and I had this 
vehicle, with an intelligent driver, and a horse with a hideous 
raw on his shoulder, entirely to myself for the iive-and-twenty 
miles of our journey. The cabins of Coleraine are not parted 
with in a hurry, and we crossed the bridge, and went up and 
down the hills of one of the suburban streets, the Bann flow- 
ing picturesquely to our left ; a large Catholic chapel, the be- 
fore-mentioned cabins, and farther on, some neat-looking houses 
and plantations, to our right. Then we began ascending wide 
lonely hills, pools of bog shining here and there amongst them, 
with birds, both black and white, both geese and crows, on the 
hunt. Some of the stubble was already ploughed up, but by 
the side of most cottages you saw a black potato-field that it 
was time to dig now, for the weather was changing and the 
winds beginning to roar. Woods, whenever we passed them, 
were flinging round eddies of mustard-colored leaves ; the white 
trunks of lime and ash trees beginning to look very bare. 

Then we stopped to give the raw-backed horse w^ater ; then 
we trotted down a hill with a noble bleak prospect of Lou*^ 
Foyle and the surrounding mountains before us, until we 
reached the town of Newtown Limavaddy, where the raw-backed 
horse was exchanged for another not much more agreeable in 
his appearance, though, like his comrade, not slow on the road. 

Newtown Limavaddy is the third town in the county of Lon- 
donderry. It comprises three well-built streets, the others are 
inferior; it is, however, respectably inhabited : all this may be 
true, as the well-informed Guide-book avers, but I am bound 
to say that I was thinking of something else as we drove 
through the town, having fallen eternally in love during the ten 
minutes of our stay. 

Yes, Peggy of Limavaddy, if Barrow and Inglis have gone 
to Connemara to fall in love with the Misses Flynn, let us be 
allowed to come to Ulster and offer a tribute of praise at your 
feet — at your stockingless feet, O Margaret ! Do you remem- 
ber the October day ('twas the first day of the hard weather), 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



563 



when the way-worn traveller entered your inn ? But the cir- 
cumstances of this passion had better be chronicled in death' 
less verse. 

PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 



Riding from Coleraine 
(Famed for lovely Kitty), 

Came a Cockney bound 
Unto Derry city ; 



Weary was his soul, 
Shivering and sad he 

Bumped along the road 
Leads to Limavaddy. 



Mountains sketch'd around, 

Gloomy was their tinting, 
And the horse's hoofs 

Made a dismal dinting ; 
Wind upon the heath 

Howling was and piping, 
On the heath and bog, 

Black with many a snipe in ; 
Mid the bogs of black. 

Silver pools were flashing. 
Crows upon their sides 

Picking were and splashing. 
Cockney on the car 

Closer folds his plaidy, 
Grumbling at the road 

Leads to Limavaddy. 

Through the crashing woods 

Autumn brawl'd and bluster'd 
Tossing round about 

Leaves the hue of mustard ; 
Yonder lay Lough Foy^e. 

Which a storm was whipping, 
Covering with mist 

Lake, and shores, and shipping 
Up and down the hill 

(Nothing could be bolder), 
Horse went with a raw, 

Bleeding on his shoulder. 
" Where are horses changed ? " 

Said I to the laddy 
Driving on the box : 
" Sir, at Limavaddy." 

Limavaddy inn's 

But a humble baithouse, 
Where you may procure 

Whiskey and potatoes ; 
Landlord at the door 

Gives a smiling welcome 
To the shivering wights 

Who to his liotei come. 
Landlady within 

Sits and knits a stocking, 
With a wary foot 

Baby's cradle rocking. 

To the chimney nook. 

Having found admittance, 

Tliere I watch a pup 

Playing with two kittens ; 

(Playing round the fire, 
Whicli of blazing turf is, 



Roaring to the pot 

Which bubbles with the murphies ;) 
And the cradled babe 

Fond the mother nursed it ! 
Singing it a song 

As she twists the worsted! 

Up and down the stair 

Two more young ones patter 
(Twins were never seen 

Dirtier nor fatter) ; 
Both have mottled legs, 

Both have snubby noses, 
Both have — Here the Host 

Kindly interposes : 
" Sure you must be froze 

With the sleet and hail, sir, 
So will you have some punch. 

Or will you have some ale, sir?" 

Presently a maid 

Enters with the liquor, 
(Half a pint of ale 

Frothing in a beaker). . 
Gods! f didn't know 

What my beating heart meant, 
Hebe's self I thought 

Enter' d the apartment. 
As she came she smiled. 

And the smile bewitching, 
On my word and honor, 

Lighted all the kitchen ! 



With a curtsey neat 

Greeting the new comer, 
Lovely, smiling Peg 

Offers me the rummer ; 
But my trembling hand 

Up the beaker tilted, 
And the glass of ale 

Every drop I spilt it : 
Spilt it'every drop 

(Dames, who read my volumes* 
Pardon such a word,) 

On my whatd'ycall'ems ! 

Witnessing the sight 

Of that dire disaster, 
Out began to laugh 

Missis, maid, and master; 
Such a merry f'eal, 

'Specially INIiss Peg's was. 



5^4 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



(As the glass of ale 

Trickling down my legs was), 
That tlie joyful sound 

Of that ringing laughter 
Echoed in my ears 

Many a long day after 

Such a silver peal ! 

In the meadows listening, 
You who've heard the bells 

Ringing to a christening ; 
You who ever heard 

Caradori pretty, 
Smiling like an angel 

Singing " Giovinetti," 
Fancy Peggy's laugh, 

Sweet, and clear and cheerful, 
At my pantaloons 

With half a pint of beer full 1 

When the laugh was done, 

Peg, the pretty hussy, 
Moved about the room 

Wonderfully busy ; 
Now she looks to see 

If the kettle keep hot, 
Now she rubs the spoons. 

Now she cleans the teapot ; 
Now she sets the cups 



Trimly and secure 
Now she scours a pot 
And so it was I drew ha. 



Thus it was I drew her 

Scouring of a kettle.* 
(Faith ! her blushing cheek* 

Redden'd on the metal !) 
Ah! but 'tis in vain 

That I try to sketch it ; 
The pot perhaps is like. 

But Peggy's face is wretched. 
No : the best of lead, 

And of Indian-rubber, 
Never could depict 

That sweet kettle-scrubber! 



See her as she moves 1 

Scarce the ground she touches, 
Airy as a fay, 

Graceful as a duchess ; 
Bare her rounded arm. 

Bare her little leg is, 
Vestris never show'd 

Ankles like to Peggy's ; 
Braided is her hair. 

Soft her look and modest, 
Slim her little waist 

Comfortably bodiced. 



This I do declare, 

Happy is the laddy 
Who the heart can share 

Of Peg of Limavaddy ; 
Married if she were, 

Blest would be the daddy 
Of the children fair 

Of Peg of Limavaddy ; 
Beauty is not rare 

In the land of Paddy, 
Fair beyond compare 

Is Peg of Limavaddy. 



Citizen or squire, 

Tory, Whig, or Radi- 
cal would all desire 

Peg of Limavaddy. 
Had I Homer's fire. 

Or that of Sergeant Taddy, 
Meetly I'd admire 

Peg of Limavaddy. 
And till I expire, 

Or till I grow mad, I 
Will sing unto my lyre 

Peg of Limavaddy l 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



TEMPLEMOYLE DERRY 



1:*"kOm Newtown Limavaddy to Derry the traveller has many 
wild and noble prospects of Lough Foyle and the plains and 
mountains round it, and of scenes which may possibly in this 



* The late Mr. Pope represents Camilla as *' scouring the plam,'' an absurd and useless 
task. Peggy's occupation with the kettle is much more simple and noble. The second line 
of this verse (whereof the author scorns to deny an obligation) is from the celebrated 
" Frithiof " of Esaias Tigner. A maiden is serving warriors to drink, and is standing by a 



shield — " Und die Runde des Schildes ward wie das Magdelein roth, 
is the best thing in both po^ms. 



-periiaps the abova 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 565 

country be still more agreeable to him — of smiling cultivation, 
and comfortable well-built villages, such as are only too rare in 
Ireland. Of a great part of this district the London Compa- 
nies are landlords — the best of landlords, too, according to the 
report I could gather ; and their good stewardship shows itself 
especially in the neat villages of Muff and Ballikelly, through 
both of which I passed. In Ballikelly, besides numerous sim- 
ple, stout, brick-built dwellings for the peasantry, with their 
shining windows and trim garden-plots, is a Presbyterian meet- 
ing-house, so well-built, substantial, and handsome, so different 
from the lean, pretentious, sham-Gothic ecclesiastical edifices 
which have been erected of late years in Ireland, that it can't 
fail to strike the tourist who has made architecture his study or 
his pleasure. The gentlemen's seats in the district are numer- 
ous and handsome ; and the whole movement along the road 
betokened cheerfulness and prosperous activity. 

As the carman had no other passengers but myself, he made 
no objection to carry me a couple of miles out of his way, 
through the village of Muff, belonging to the Grocers of Lon- 
don (and so' handsomely and comfortably built by them as to 
cause all Cockneys to exclaim, " Well done our side ! ") and 
thence to a very interesting institution, which was established 
some fifteen years since in the neighborhood — the Agricultural 
Seminary of Templemoyle. It lies on a hill in a pretty wooded 
country, and is most Cdriously secluded from the world by the 
tortuousness of the road which approaches it. 

Of course it is not my business to report upon the agricul- 
tural system practised there, or to discourse on the state of the 
land or the crops ; the best testimony on this subject is the 
fact, that the Institution hired, at a small rental, a tract of land, 
which was reclaimed and farmed, and that of this farm the 
landlord has now taken possession, leaving the young farmers 
to labor on a new tract of land, for which they pay five times as 
much rent as for their former holding. But though a person 
versed in agriculture could give a far more satisfactory account 
of the place than one to whom such pursuits are quite unfa- 
miliar, there is a great deal about the establishment which any 
citizen can remark on ; and he must be a very difficult Cockney 
indeed who won't be pleased here. 

After winding in and out, and up and down, and round 
about the eminence on which the house stands, we at last 
found an entrance to it, by a court-yard, neat, well-built, and 
spacious, where are the stables and numerous offices of the 
farm. The scholars were at dinner off a comfortable meal of 



2 6 6 THE IRISH SKE TCH B O OK. 

boiled beef, potatoes, and cabbages, when I arrived ; a master 
was reading a book of history to them ; and silence, it appears, 
is preserved during the dinner. Seventy scholars were here 
assembled, some young, and some expanded into six feet and 
whiskers — all, however, are made to maintain exactly the same 
discipline, whether whiskered or not. 

The '.'head farmer" of the school, Mr. Campbell, a very in- 
telligent Scotch gentleman, was good enough to conduct me 
over the place and the farm, and to give a history of the estab- 
lishment and the course pursued there. The Seminary was 
founded in 1827, by the North-west of Ireland Society, by 
members of which and others about three thousand pounds 
were subscribed, and the buildings of the school erected. 
These are spacious, simple, and comfortable ; there is a good 
stone house, with airy dormitories, school-rooms, &c., and large 
and convenient offices. The establishment had, at first, some 
difficulties to contend with, and for some time did not number 
more than thirty pupils. At present, there are seventy schol- 
ars, paying ten pounds a year, with which sum, and the labor of 
the pupils on the farm, and the produce of it, the school is 
entirely supported. The reader will, perhaps, like to see an 
extract from the Report of the school, which contains more 
details regarding it. 

"TEMPLEMOYLE WORK AND SCHOOL TABLE. 
" Froin 2oih March to iid September. 
" Boys divided into two classes, A and B. 
Hours. At work. At School. 

1%. All rise. 

6—8 A B 

8 — 9 Breakfast. 



I — 2 Dinner and recreation. 
2—6 

6 — 7 Recreation. 
7—9 Prepare lessons for next day. 
To bed. 



9- 
" On Tuesday B commences work in the morning and A at school, and so on alternate 

'• Each class is again subdivided into three divisions, over each of which is placed a 
monitor, selected from the steadiest and best-informed boys ; he receives the Head Far- 
mer's directions as to the work to be done, and superintends his party while performing it. 

" In winter the time of labor is shortened according to the length of the day, and the 
hours at school increased. 

" In wet days, when the boys cannot work out, all are required to attend school. 

"Dietary. 

' Breakfast.— YA'i\t\\ ounces of oatmeal made in stirabout, one pint of sweet milk. _ 
" Z>m;?(?r.— Sunday— Three nuarters of a pound of beef stewed with pepper and onions, 
pr one half-pound of corned beef With cabbage, and three and a half pounds of potatoes. 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 567 

** Monday— One half-pound of pickled beef, three and a half jiounds ol potatoes, one 
pint of buttermilk. 

" Tuesday— Broth made of one half-pound of beef, with leeks, cabbage, and parsley, and 
three and a half pounds of potatoes- 

" Wednesday— Two ounces of butter, eight ounces of oafmeal made into bread, three 
and a half pounds of potatoes, and one pint of sweet milk. ^ 

" Thursday— Half a pound of pickled pork, with cabbage or turnips, and three and a half 
pounds of potatoes. . 

" Friday— Two ounces of butter, eight ounces wheat meal made into bread, one pnit of 
sweet milk or fresh buttermilk, three and a half pounds cf potatoes. 

" Saturday— Two ounces of butter, onC pound of potatoes mashed, eight ounces of wheat 
meal made into bread, two and a half pounds of potatoes, one pint of buttermilk. 

" Supper-— l-a. summer, flummery made of one pound of oatmeal seeds, and one pint of 
sweet milk. In winter, three and a half pounds cf potatoes, and one pint of buttermilk or 
sweet milk. ' 

" Rules for the Templemoyle School. 

" I. The pupils are required to say their prayers in the morning, before leaving the dor- 
mitory, and at night, before retiring to rest, each separately, and after the manner to which 
he has been habituated. 

*'2. The pupils are requested to wash their hands and faces before the commencement 
of business in the morning, on returning from agricultural labor, and after dinner. 

"3. The pupils are required to pay the strictest attention to their instructors, both during 
the hours of agricultural and literary occupation. 

" 4. Strife, disobedience, inattention, or any description of riotous or disorderly conduct, 
is punishable by extra labor or confinement, as directed by the Committee, according to cir- 
cumstances. 

" 5. Diligent and respectable behavior, continued for a considerable time, will be re- 
warded by occasional permission for the pupil so distinguished to visit his home. 

"6. No pupil, on obtaining leave of absence, shall presume to continue it for a longer 
period than that prescribed to him on leaving the Seminary. 

" 7. During their rural labor, the pupils are to consider themselves amenable to the 
authority of their Agricultural Instructor alone, and during their attendance in the school- 
room, to that of their Literary Instructor alone. 

" 8. Non-attendance during any part of the time allotted either for literary or agricultural 
employment, will be punished as a serious of?ence. 

"q. During the hours of recreation the pupils are to be under the superintendence of 
their Instructors, and not suffered to pass beyond the limits of the farm, except under their 
guidance, or with a written permission from one of them.. 

" 10. The pupils are required to make up their beds, and keep those clothes not in imme- 
diate use neatly folded up in their trunks, and to be particular in never suffering any gar- 
ment, book, implement, or other article belonging to or used by them, to lie about in a 
slovenly or disorderly manner. 

"11. Respect to superiors, and gentleness of demeanor, both among the pupils them- 
selves and towards the servants and laborers of the establishment, are particularly insisted 
upon, and will be considered a prominent ground of approbation and reward. 

" 12. On Sundays the pupib are required to attend their respective places of worship, 
accompanied by their Instructors or Monitors ; and it is earnestly recommended to them 
to employ a part of the remainder of the day in sincerely reading the Word of God, and in 
such other devotional exercises as their respective ministers may point out." 



At certain periods of the year, when all hands are required, 
such as harvest, &c., the literary labors of the scholars are 
Stopped, and they are all in the field. On the present occasion 
we followed them into a potato-field, where an ariny of them 
were employed digging out the potatoes ; while another regi- 
ment were trenching in elsewhere for the winter : the boys 
were leading the carts to and fro. . To reach the potatoes we 
had to pass a field, part of which was newly ploughed : the 
ploughing was the work of the boys, too ; one of them being 
left with an experienced ploughman for a fortnight at a time, 
in which space the lad can acquire some practice in the art. 



S6S 



THE IRISH SHE TCH BOOK. 



Amongst the potatoes and the boys diggmg them, I observed 
a number of girls, taking them up as dug and removing the 
soil from the roots. Such a society for seventy young men 
would, i^ any other country in the world, be not a little dan 
gerous ; but Mr. Campbell said that no instance of harm ha( 
ever occurred in consequence, and I believe his statement ma; 
be fully relied on : the whole country bears testimony to thi i 
noble purity of morals. Is there any other in Europe which ii 
this point can compare with it ? 

In winter the farm works do not occupy the pupils so mucF 
and they give more time to their literary studies. They ge 
a good English education 3 they are grounded in arithmetii 
and mathematics ; and I saw a good map of an adjacent farnn 
made from actual survey by one of the pupils. Some of then 
are good draughtsmen likewise, but of their performances 
could see no specimen, the artists being abroad, occupied wisely; 
in digging the potatoes. 

And here apropos, not of the school but of potatoes, let m^. 
tell a potato story, which is, I think, to the purpose, whereve ! 
it is told. In the county of Mayo a gentleman by the nami 
of Crofton is a landed proprietor, in whose neigliborhoo( < 
great distress prevailed among the peasantry during the sprini 
and summer, when the potatoes of the last year were consumed : 
and before those of the present season were up. Mr. Crofton i 
by liberal donations on his own part, and by a sub'scriptioi 
which was set on foot among his friends in England as well all 
in Ireland, was enabled to collect a sum of money sufficient t( 
purchase meal for the people, which was given to them, o 
sold at very low prices, until the pressure of want was withdrawn ] 
and the blessed potato-crop came in. Some time in Octobeii 
a smart night's frost made Mr. Crofton thitik that it was timi 1 
to take in and pit his own potatoes, and he told his steward tr 
get laborers accordingly. 

Next day, on going to the potato-grounds, he found thi , 
whole fields swarming with people ; the whole crop w^s out O) 
the ground, and again under it, pitted and covered, and -tb 
people gone, in a few hours. It was as if the' fairies that wr 
read of in the Irish legends, as coming to the aid of good people 
and helping them in their labors, had taken a liking to thi|i 
good landlord, and taken in his harvest for him. Mr. Croftom 
who knew who his helpers had been, sent the steward to pai 
them their day's wages, and to thank them at the same timi 
for having come to help him at a time when their labor was s( 
useful to him. One and all refused a penny ; and their spokes i 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. c;69 

iinan said, " They wished they could do more for the likes of 
,him or his family," I have heard of many conspiracies in this 
^country ; is not thia one as.vvorthy to be told as any of them ? 

Round the house of Templemoyle is a pretty garden, which 
the pupils take pleasure in cultivating, filled not with fruit (for 
this, though there are seventy gardeners, the superintendent 
said somehow seldom reached a ripe state), but with kitchen 
herbs, and a few beds of pretty flowers, such as are best suited 
to cottage horticulture. Such simple carpenters' and ntasans' 
work as the young men can do is likewise confided to them ; 
and though the dietary may appear to the Englishman as rather 
a scanty one, and though the English lads certainly make at 
first very wry faces at the stirabout porridge (as they naturally 
will when first put in the presence of that abominable, mixture), 
yet after a time, strange to say, they begin to find it actually 
palatable ; and the best proof of the excellence of the diet is, 
that nobody is ever ill in the institution : colds and fevers and 
the ailments of lazy, gluttonous gentility, are unknown , and the 
doctor's bill for the last year, for seventy pupils, amounted to 
thirty-five shillings. O heati agricoliculce I You do not know 
what it is to feel a little uneasy aftet half a crown's worth of 
raspberry-tarts, as lads do at the best public schools ; you don't 
know in w'hat majestic polished hexameters the Roman poet 
has described your pursuits ; you are not fagged and flogged 
into Latin and Greek at the cost of two hundred pounds a year. 
Let these be the privileges of your youthful betters ; meanwhile 
content yourselves with thinking that you a7'e preparing for a 
profession, while they are 7iot ; that you are learning something 
useful, while they, for the most part, are not : for after all, as a 
man grows old in the world, old and fat, cricket is discovered 
not to be any longer very advantageous to him — even to have 
pulled in the Trinity boat does not in old age amount to a sub- 
stantial advantage ; and though to read a Greek play be an 
immense pleasure, yet it must be confessed few enjoy it. In 
the first place, of the race of Etonians, and Harrovians, and 
Carthusians that one meets in the world, very few ca7i read the 
Greek ; of those few — there are not, as I believe, any consider- 
able majori^ of poets. Stout men in the bow-window^s of clubs 
(for such yoiing Etonians by time become) are not generally re- 
markable for a taste for yEschylus. * You do not hear much poe- 
try in Westminster Hall, or I believe at the 'bar-tables after- 
wards ; and if occasionally, in the House of Commons, Sir Robert 

• And then, how inuch Latin and Greek does the public school-boy know? Also, does 
h« know anything else, and what ? Is it historj', or geograpliy, or mathematics, or divinity ? 



2 7 o THE IRISH SKE TCH B OK. 

Peel lets off a quotation — a pocket-pistol wadded with a leaf \ 
torn out of Horace — depend on it it is only to astonish the ' 
country gentlemen who don't understand him : and it is my firm 
conviction that Sir Robert no more cares for poetry than you 
or I do. 

Such thoughts would suggest themselves to a man who has 
had the benefit of what is called an education at a public school 
in England, when he sees seventy lads from all parts of the 
empfre learning what his Latin poets and philosophers have in- 
formed him is the best of all pursuits, — finds them educated at 
one-twentieth part of the cost which has been bestowed on his 
own precious person ; orderly without the necessity of submit- 
ting to degrading personal punishment ; young, and full of 
health and blood, though vice is unknown among them ; and 
brought up decently and honestly to know the things which it 
is good for them in their profession to know. So it is, however ; 
all the world is improving except the gentlemen. There are at 
tliis present writing five hundred boys at Eton, kicked, and 
licked, and bullied, by another hundred — scrubbing shoes, run- 
ning errands, making false concords, and (as if that were a 
natural consequence !) putting their posteriors on a block for 
Dr. Hawtrey to lash at ; and still calling it education. They 
are proud of it — good heavens ! — ^absolutely vain of it ; as what 
dull barbarians are not proud of their dulness and barbarism ? 
They call it the good old English system : nothing like classics, 
says Sir John, to give a boy a taste, you know^ and a habit of 
reading — (Sir John, who reads the " Racing Calendar," and 
belongs to a race of men of all the world the least given to 
reading,) — it's the good old English system : every boy fights 
for himself — hardens 'em, eh, Jack? Jack grins, and helps 
himself to another glass of claret, and presently tells you how 
Tibbs and Miller fought for an hour and twenty minutes '' like 
good uns." * * =* Let us come to an end, however, of this 
moralizing ; the car-driver has 'brought the old raw-shouldered 
horse out of the stable, and says it is time to be off again. 

Before quitting Templemoyle, one thing more may be said 
in its favor. It is one of the very few public establishments in 
Ireland where pupils of the two religious denominations are re- 
ceived, and where no religious disputes have taken place. The 
pupils are called upon, morning and evening, to say their prayers 
privately. On Sunday, each division, Presbyterian, Roman 
Catholic, and Episcopalian, is marched to its proper place of 
worship. The pastors of each sect may visit their young flock 
when so inclined ; and the lads devote the Sabbath evening to 
reading the books pointed out to them by their clergymen. 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



571 



Would not the Agricultural Society of Ireland, of tlie suc- 
cess of whose peaceful labors for the national prosperity every 
Irish newspaper I read brings some new indication, do well to 
show some mark of its sympathy for this excellent institution of 
'I emplemoyle ? A silver medal given by the Society to the 
most deserving pupil of the year, would be a great object of 
emulation amongst the young men educated at the place, and 
would be almost a certain passport for the winner in seeking 
for a situation in after life. I do not know if similar seminaries 
exist in England Other seminaries of a like nature have been 
tried in this country, and have failed : but English country gen- 
tlemen cannot, I should think, find a better object of their atten- 
tion than this school \ and our farmers would surely find such 
establishments of great benefit to them : where their children 
might procure a sound literary education at a small charge, and 
at the same time be made acquainted with the latest improve- 
ments in their profession, I can't help saying here, once more, 
what I have said apropos of the excellent school at Dundalk, 
and begging the English middle classes to think of the subject. 
If Government will not act (upon what nevfcr can be effectual, 
perhaps, until it become a national measure), let small commu- 
nities act for themselves, and tradesmen and the middle classes 
set up CHEAP PROPRIETARY scHOOLsi Will country newspaper 
editors, into whose hands this book may fall, be kind enough to 
speak upon this hint, and extract the tables of the Temple- 
moyle and Dundalk establishments, to show how, and with 
what small means, boys may be well, soundly, and humanely 
educated — not brutally, as some of us have been, under the bit- 
ter fagging and the shameful rod. It is no plea for the bar- 
barity that use has made us accustomed to it ; and in seeing 
these institutions for humble lads, where the system taught is 
at once useful, manly, and kindly, and thinking of what I had 
undergone in my own youth, — of the frivolous monkish trifling 
in which it was wasted, of the brutal tyranny to which it was 
subjected, — I could look at the lads but with a sort of envy : 
please God, their lot will be shared by thousands of their equals 
and their betters before long ! 

It was a proud day for Dundalk, Mr. Thackeray well said, 
when, at the end of one of the vacations there, fourteen English 
bdys, and an Englishman with his little son in his hand, landed 
from the Liverpool packet, and, walking through the streets of 
the town, went into the school-house quite happy. That was a 
proud day in truth for a distant Irish town, and I can't help 
saying that I grudge them the cause of their pride somewhat 



572 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 



Why should there not be schools in England as good, and as 
cheap, and as happy ? 

With this, shaking Mr. Campbell gratefully by the hand, 
and begging all English tourists to go and visit his establishment, 
we trotted off for Londonderry, leaving at about a mile's dis- 
tance from the town, and at the pretty lodge of Saint Columb's, 
a letter, which was the cause of much delightful hospitality. 

Saint Columb's Chapel, the walls of which still stand pictur- 
esquely in Sir George Hill's park, and from which that gentle- 
man's seat takes its name, was here since the sixth century. 
It is but fair to give precedence to the mention of the old 
abbey, which was the father, as it would seem, jof the town. 
The approach to the latter from three quarters, certainly, by 
which various avenues I had occasion to see it, is always noble. 
We had seen the spire of the cathedral peering over the hills 
for four miles on our way ; it stands, a stalwart and handsome 
building, upon an eminence, round which the old-fashioned 
stout red houses of the town cluster, girt in with the ramparts 
and walls that kept out James's soldiers of old. Quays, 
factories, huge red 'warehouses, have grown round this famous 
old barrier, and now stretch along the river. A couple of large 
steamers^and other craft lay within the bridge; and, -as we 
passed over that stout wooden edifi(5e, stretching eleven hun- 
dred feet across the noble expanse of the Foyle, we heard 
along the quays a great thundering and clattering of iron-work 
in an enormous steam frigate which has been built in Derry,- 
and seems to lie alongside a whole street of houses. The 
suburb, too, through which we passed was bustling and com- 
fortable ; and the view was not only pleasing from its natural 
beauties, but has a manly, thriving, honest air of prosperity, 
which is no bad feature, surely, for a landscape. 

Nor does the town itself, as one enters it, belie, as many 
other Irish towns do, its first flourishing look. It is not splen- 
did, but comfortable ; a brisk movement in the streets : good 
downright shops, without particularly grand titles ; few beg- 
gars. Nor have the common people, as they address you, that 
eager smile, — that manner of compound fawning and swagger- 
ing, which an Englishman finds in the townspeople of the West 
and South. As in the North of England, too, when compared 
with other districts, the people are greatly more familiar, thoug;h 
by no means disrespectful to the strangerc 

On the other hand, after such a commerce as a traveller has 
with the race of wa**ers, postboys, porters, and the like (and it 
may be that the v^' . race of postboys, &c., whom I did not see 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK 573 

in the North, are quite unlike those unlucky specimens with 
whom I came in contact), I was struck by their excessive 
greediness after the traveller's gratuities, and their fierce dis- 
satisfaction if not sufficiently rewarded, '/fo the gentlem'an 
who brushed my clothes at the comfortable hotel at Belfast, 
and carried my bags to the coach, I tendered the sum of two 
shillings, which seemed to me quite a sufficient reward for his 
services : he battled and brawled with me for more, and got it 
too ; for a street-dispute with a porter calls together a number 
of delighted bystanders, whose remarks and company are by 
no means agreeable to a solitary gentleman. Then, again, 
there was the famous case of Boots of Ballycastle, which, being 
upon the subject, I may as well mention here ; Boots of Bally- 
castle, that romantic little village near the Giant's Causeway, 
had cleaned a pair of shoes for me certainly, but declined 
.either to brush my clothes, or to carry down my two carpet- 
bags to the car ; leaving me to perform those offices for my- 
self, which I did : and indeed they were not very difficult. But 
immediately I was seated on the car, Mr. Boots stepped for- 
ward and wrapped a mackintosh very considerately round me, 
and begged me at the same time to " remember him." 

There was an old beggar-woman standing by, to whom I 
had a desire to present a penny ; and having no coin of that 
value, I begged Mr. Boots, out of a sixpence which I tendered 
to him, to subtract a penny, and present it to the old lady in 
question. Mr. Boots took the money, looked at me, and his 
countenance, not naturally good-humored, assumed an expres- 
sion of the most indignant contempt and hatred as he said, 
" I'm thinking I've no call to give my money away. Sixpence 
is my right for what I've done." 

"Sir," says I, '*you must remember that you did but 
black one pair of shoes, and that ycu blacked them very 
badly too." 

" Sixpence is my right," says Boots ; " a gentleman would 
give me sixpence ! " and though I represented to him that a 
pair of shoes might be blacked in a minute— that fivepence a 
minute was not usual wages in the country — that many gentle- 
men, half-pay officers, briefless barristers, unfortunate literary 
gentlemen, would gladly black twelve pairs pf shoes per diem 
if rewarded with five shillings for so doing, there was no means 
of convincing Mr. Boots. I then demanded back the sixpence, 
which proposal, however, he declined, saying, after a; struggle, 
he would give the money, but a gentleman would have given 
sixpence ; and so left me with furious rage and contempt. 



274 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 

As for the city of Derry, a carman who drove me one mile 
out to dinner at a gentleman's house, where he himself was 
provided with a comfortable meal, was dissatisfied v/ith 
eighteenpence, vowing that a " dinner job " was always paid 
half a crown, and not only asserted this, but continued to 
assert it for a quarter of an hour with the most noble though 
unsuccessful perseverance. A second car-boy, to whom I gave 
a shilling for a drive of two miles altogether, attacked me 
because I gave the other boy eighteenpence ; and the porter 
who brought my bags fifty yards from the coach, entertained 
me with a dialogue that lasted' at least a couple of minutes, 
and said, '' I should have had sixpence for carrying one of 
'em." 

For the car which carried me two miles the landlord of the 
inn made me pay the sum of five shillings. He is a godly 
landlord, has Bibles in the coffee-room, the drawing-room, and 
every bedroom in the house, with this inscription — 

UT MIGRATURUS K ABIT A. 

THE TRAVELLERS TRUE REFUGE. 

Jones's Hotel, Londonderry. 

This pious double or triple entendre, the reader will, no 
doubt, admire — the first simile establishing the resemblance 
between this life and an inn ; the second allegory showing that 
the inn and the Bible are both the traveller's refuge. 

In life we are in death — the hotel in question is about as 
gay as a family vault : a severe figure of a landlord, in seedy 
black, is occasionally seen in the dark passages or on the 
creaking old stairs of the black inn. He does not bow to you 
— very few landlords in Ireland condescend to acknowledge 
their guests — he only warns you : — a silent solemn gentleman 
who looks to be something between a clergyman and a sexton 
— '' ut migraturus habita ! " — the " migraturus " was a vast 
comfort in the clause. 

It must, however, be said, for the consolation of future 
travellers, that when at q^yening, in the old lonely parlor of the 
inn, the great gaunt fireplace is filled with coals, two dreary 
funereal candles and sticks glimmering upon the old-fashioned 
round table, the rain pattering fiercely without, the wind roaring 
and thumping in the streets, this worthy gentleman can produce 
a pint of port-wine for the use of his migratory guest, which 
causes the latter to be almost reconciled to the cemetery in 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



575 



which hejs reslmg himself, and he finds himseU', to his surprise, 
ahiiost cheerful. There is a mouldy-looking .old kitchen, too, 
which, strange to say, sends out an excelleut comfortable diu- 
ner, so that the sensation of fear gradually wears off. 

As in Chester, the ramparts of the town form a pleasant 
promenade ; and the batteries, with a few of the cannon, are 
preserved, with which the stout 'prentice boys of Derry beat 
oil. King James in '88. Tlie guns bear the names of the Lon- 
don Companies — venerable Cockney titles ! It is pleasant for 
a Londoner to read them, and see how, at a pinch, the sturdy 
citizens can" do their work. 

The public buildings of Derry are, I think, among the bestn 
I have seen in Ireland ; and the Lunatic Asylum, especiall}', is 
to be pointed out as a model of neatness apd comfort. When 
will the middle classes be allowed to send their own afflicted 
relatives to public institutions of this excellent kind, where 
violence is never practised — where it is never to the interest of 
the keeper of the asylum to exaggerate his patient's malady, 
or to retain him in durance, for the sake of the enormous sums 
which the sufferer's relatives are made to pay ! The gentry of 
three countries which contribute to the Asylum have no such 
resource fgr members of their own body, should any be so 
afflicted — the condition of entering this admirable asylum is, 
that the patient must be a pauper, and on this account he is 
supplied with every comfort and the best curative means, and 
his relations are in perfect security. Are the rich in any way 
so lucky ? — and if not, why not ? 

The rest of the occurrences at Derry belong, unhappily, to 
the domain of private life, and though very pleasant to recall, 
are not honestly to be printed. Otherwise, what popular de* 
scriptions might be written of the hospitalities of St. Columb's, 
of the jovialities of the mess of the — th Regiment, of the 
speeches made and the songs sung, and the devilled turkey at 
twelve o'clock, and the headache afterwards ; all which events 
could be described in an exceedingly facetious manner. But 
these amusements are to be met with in every other part of 
her Majesty's dojninions ; and the only point which may be 
mentioned here as peculiar to this part of Ireland, is the differ- 
ence of the manner of the gentry to that in the South. The 
Northern manner is far more English than that of the other 
provinces of Ireland — whether it is better for being English is 
a question of taste, of which an Englishman can scarcely be a 
fair judge. 



j;^6 THE I RJSII SKETCH BOOK. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

DUBLIN AT LAST. 



A WEDDING-PARTY that Went across Derr}' Bridge to the 
sound of bell and cannon, had to flounder through a thick 
coat of frozen snow, that covl^red the slippery planks, and the 
hills round about were whitened over by the same inclement 
material. Nor. was the weather, implacable towards young 
lovers and unhappy buckskin postilions shivering in white 
favors, at all more polite towards the passengers of her Maj- 
esty's mail that runs from Derry to Ballyshannon. 

Hence the aspect of the country between those two places 
can only be described at the rate of nine miles' an hour, and 
from such points of observation as may be had through a 
coach window, starred with ice and mud. While horses were 
changed we saw a very dirty town, called Strabane ; and had 
to visit the old house of the O'Donnels in Donegal during a 
quarter of an hour's pause that the coach made there — and 
with an umbrella overhead. The pursuit of the picturesque 
under umbrellas let us leave to more venturesome souls : the 
fine weather of the finest season known for many long years 
in Ireland was over, and I thought with a great deal of yearn- 
ing of Pat the waiter, at the " Shelburne Hotel," Stephen's 
Green, Dublin, and the gas lamps, and the covered cars, and 
the good dinners to which they take you. 

Farewell, then, O wild Donegal ! and ye stern passes 
through which the astonished traveller windeth !* Farewell, 
Ballyshannon, and thy salmon-leap, and thy bar of sand, over 
which the white head of the troubled Atlantic was peeping ! 
Likewise, adieu to Lough Erne, and its numberless green 
islands, and winding river-lake, and wavy fir-clad hills ! Good- 
by, moreover, neat Enniskillen, over the bridge and churches 
whereof the sun peepeth as the coach starteth from the inn ! 
See, how he shines now on Lord Belmore's stately palace and 
park, with gleaming porticoes and brilliant grassy chases: now, 
behold he is yet higher in the heavens, as the twanging horn 
proclaims the approach to beggarly Gavan, where a beggarly 
breakfast awaits the hungry voyager. 

- Snatching up a roll wherewith to satisfy the pangs of hunger, 
sharpened by the mockery of breakfast, tlie tourist now hastens 



THE IRISH SHE TCII BOOJc. 577 

in his arduous course, thoug^h Virginia, Kells, Navan, by Tara's 
threadbare mountain, and Skreen's green hill ; day darkens, and 
a hundred thousand lamps twinkle in the gray horizon — see 
about the darkling trees a stumpy column rise, see on its base 
the naine of Wellington (though this, because 'tis night, thou 
canst not see), and cry, "It is the Phaynix f^' — On and on, 
across the iron bridge, and through the streets, (dear streets, 
though dirty, to the citizen's heart how dear you be!) and lo, 
now, with a bump, the dirty coach stops at the seedy inn, six 
ragged porters battle tor the bags, six wheedling carmen recom- 
mend „their cars, and (giving first the coachman eighteenpence) 
the Cockney says, " drive, ear-boy, to the ' Shelbarne.' " 

And so having reached Dublin, it becomes necessary to curtail 
the observations which were to be made upon that city ; which 
surely ought to have a volume to itself : the humors of Dublin 
at least require so much space, For instance, there was the 
dinner at the Kildare Street Club, or the Hotel opposite, — the 
dinner in Trinity College Hall, — that at Mr. , the pub- 
lisher's, where a dozen of the literary men of Ireland were 
assembled, — and those (say fifty) with Harry Lorrequer him- 
self, at his mansion of Templeogue, What a favorable oppor- 
tunity to discourse upon the peculiarities of Irish character ! 
to describe men of letters, of fashion, and university dons ? 

Sketches of these personages may be prepared, and sent over, 
perhaps in confidence to Mrs. Sigourney in America — who will 
of course not print them) — but the English habit does not allow 
of these happy communications between writers and the public ; 
and the author who wishes to dine again at his friend's cost, 
must needs have a care how he puts him in print. 

Suffice it to say, that at Kildare Street we had white neck- 
cloths, black waiters, wax-candles, and some of the best wine in 

Europe ; at Mr. , the publisher'^, wax-candles, and some of 

the best wine in Europe ; at Mr. Lever's, wax-candles, and some 
of the best wine in Europe ; at Trinity College — but there is no 
need to mention what took place at Trinity College ; for on 
returning to London, and recounting the circumstances of the 

repast, my friend B , a Master of Arts of that university, 

solemnly declared the thing was impossible : — no stranger could 
dine at Trinity -College ; it was too great a privilege — in a 
word, he would not believe the story, nor will he to this day ; 
and why, therefore, tell it in vain .? 

I am sure if the Fellows of College in Oxford and Cambridge 
were told that the Fellows of T. C. D. only drink beer at dinner, 
they would not believe ikitt. Such, ho\vever, was the fact : or 

37- 



578 THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. 

may be it was a dream, which was followed by another dream 
of about four-and-twenty gentlemen seated round a common- 
room table after dinner ; and by a subsequent vision of a tray 
of oysters in the apartments of a tutor of the university, some- 
time before midnight. Did we swallow them or not ?^he 
oysters are an open question. 

Of the Catholic College of Maynooth, I must likewise speak 
briefly, for the reason that an accurate description of that estab- 
lishment would be of necessity so disagreeable, that it is best 
to pass it over in a few words. An Irish union-house is a 
palace to it. Ruin so needless, filth so disgusting, such a look 
of lazy squalor, no Englishman who has not seen can conceive. 
Lecture-room and dining-hall, kitchen and students'-room, 
were all the same. I shall never forget the sight of scores of 
shoulders of mutton lying on the filthy floor in the former, or 
the view of a bed and dressing-table that I saw in the other. 
Let the next Maynooth grant include a few shillings'-worth of 
whitewash and a few hundredweights of soap ; and if to this be 
added a half-score of drill-sergeants, to see that the students 
appear clean at lecture, and to teach them to keep their heads 
up and to look people in the face, Parliament will introduce 
some cheap reforms into the seminary, which were never needed 
more than here. Why should the place be so shamefully ruinous 
and foully dirty .'' Lime is cheap, and water plenty at the canal 
hard by. Why should a stranger, after a week's stay in the 
country, be able to discover a priest by the scowl on his face, 
and his doubtful downcast manner ?. Is it a point of discipline 
that his reverence should be made to look as ill-humored as 
possible ? And I hope these words will not be taken hostilely. 
It would have been quite as easy, and more pleasant, to say 
the contrary, had the contrary seemed to me to have been the 
fact; and to have declared that the priests were remarkable for 
their expression of candor, and their college for its extreme 
neatness and cleanliness. • 

This complaint of neglect applies to other public institutions 
besides Maynooth. The Mansion-house, when I saw it, was a 
very dingy abode for the Right Honorable Lord Mayor, and 
that Lord Mayor Mr. O'Connell. I saw him in full council, in a 
brilliant robe of crimson velvet, ornamented with white satin 
bows and sable collar, in an enormous cocked-hat, like a slice 
of an eclipsed moon. 

The Aldermen and Common Council, in a black oak parlor, 
and at a dingy green table, were assembled around him, and a 
debate of thrilling mterest to the town ensued. It related, I 



THE IRISH SKE TCH BOOK. ^j^ 

think, to water-pipes ; the great''" '^^an 4id not speak publicly, 
but was occupied chiefly at the en^of the table, giving audiences 
to at least a score of clients and petitioners. 

The next day I saw him in the famous Corn Exchange. 
The building without has a substantial look, but the hall within 
13 rude, dirty, and ill-kept. Hundreds of persons were assembled 
in the black, steaming place ; no inconsiderable share of frieze- 
coats were among them ; and many small Repealers, who could 
but lately have assumed their breeches, ragged as they were. 
These kept up a great chorus of shouting, and " hear, hear ! "' 
at every pause in the great Repealer's address. Mr. O'Connell 
was reading a report from his Repeal-wardens ; which proved 
that when Repeal took place, commerce and prosperity would 
instantly flow into the country ; its innumerable harbors would 
be filled with countless ships, its immense water-power would 
be directed to the turning of myriads of mills ; its vast. energies 
and resources brought into full action. At the end of the report 
three cheers were given for Repeal, and in the midst of a great 
shouting Mr. O'Connell leaves the room. 

" Mr. Quiglan, Mr. Quiglan ! " roars an active aide-de-camp 
to the door-keeper, "a covered kyar for the Lard Mayre." 
The covered car came ; I saw his lordship get into it. Next 
day he was Lord Mayor no longer ; but Alderman O'Connell 
in his state-coach, with the handsome grays whose manes were 
tied up with green ribbon, following the new Lord Mayor to the 
right honorable inauguration. Javelin men, city marshals (look- 
ing like military undertakers), private carriages, glass coaches, 
cars, covered and uncovered, and thousands of yelling raga- 
muffins, formed the civic procession of that faded, worn-out, 
insolvent old Dublin Corporation. 

The walls of this city had been placarded with huge notices 
to the public, that O'Connell's rent-day was at hand ; and I 
went round to all the chapels in town on that Sunday (not a 
little to the scandal of some Protestant friends), to see the 
popular behavior. Every door was barred, of course, with 
plate-holders ; and heaps of pence at the humble entrances, 
and bank-notes at the front gates, told the willingness of the 
people to reward their champion. The car-boy who drove me 
had paid his little tribute of fourpence at morning mass ; the 
waiter who brought my breakfast had added to the national 
subscription with his humble shilling ; and the Catholic gentle- 
man with whom I dined, and between whom and Mr. O'Connell 
_ there is no great love lost, pays his annuah donation, out of 
gratitude for old services, and to the man who won Catholic 



58o 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



1 



Emancipation for Irelancl?^i The piety of the people at the 
chapels is a sight, too, always well worthy to behold. Nor 
indeed is this religious fervor less in the Protestant places of 
worship : the warmth and attention of the congregation, the 
enthusiasm with which hymns are sung and responses uttered, 
contrasts curiously with the cool formality of worshippers at' 
home. 

The service at St. Patrick's is finely sung ; and the shame^ 
less English custom of retreating after the anthem, is properly 
prevented by locking the gates, and having the music after the 
sermon. The interior of the cathedral itself, however, to an 
Englishman who has seen the neat and beautiful edifices of 
his own country, will be anything but an object of admiration. 
The greater part of the huge old building is suffered to remain 
in gaunt decay, and with its stalls of sham Gothic, and the 
tawdry old rags and gimcracks of the " most illustrious order 
of Saint Patrick," (whose pasteboard helmets, and calico ban- 
ners, and lath swords, well characterize the humbug of chivalry 
which they are made to represent,) looks like a theatre behind 
the scenes. " Paddy's Opera," however, is a noble perform- 
ance*; and the Englishman may here listen to a half-hour ser- 
mon, and in the antheiri to a bass singer whose voice is one of 
the finest e\'er heard. 

The Drama does not flourish much more in Dublin than in 
any other part of the country. Operatic stars make their 
appearance occasionally, and managers lose money. I was at 
a fine concert, at which Lablache and others performed, where 
there were not a hundred people in the pit of the pretty theatre, 
and where the only encore given was to a. young woman in 
ringlets and yellow satin, who stfepped forward and sang 
" Coming through the rye," or some other scientific composition, 
in an exceedingly small voice. On the nights when the regular 
drama was enacted, the audience was still smaller. The theatre 
of Fishamble Street was given up to the performances of the 
Rev. Mr. Gregg and his Protestant company, whose soirees I 
did not attend ; and, at the Abbey Street Theatre, whither I . 
went in order to see, if possible, some specimens of the national 
humor, I found a company of English people rantiftg through a 
melodrama, the tragedy whereof was the only laughable thing 
to be witnessed. 

Humbler popular recreations may be seen by the curious. 
One night I paid twopence to see a puppet-show — such an 
entertainment as may have been popular a hundred and thirty^ 
years "ago, and is described in the Spectator. But the company 



THE IRISH SKK TCH B OQK. ^ g i 

here assembled were not, it scarcely need be said, of the genteel 
sort. There were a score of boys, however, and a dozen of 
In.boring men, who were quite happy and contented with the 
jiiece performed, and loudly applauded. Then in passing home- 
wards of a night, you hear, at the humble public-houses, the 
sound of many a fiddle, and the stamp of feet dancing the good 
old jig, which is still maintaining a struggle with teetotalism, 
and, though vanquished now, may rally some day and overcome 
the enemy. At Kingstown, especially, the old" "fire-worship- 
pers ", yet seem to muster pretty strongly ; loud is the music to 
be heard in the taverns there, and the cries of encouragement 
to the dancers. 

Of the numberless amusements that take place in the 
Fhaynix^ it is not very necessary to speak. Here you may 
behold garrison races, and reviews ; lord-lieutenants in brown 
great-coats ; aides-de-camp scampering about like mad in blue ; 
fat colonels roaring " charge " to immense heavy dragoons; 
dark riflemen lining woods and firing ; galloping cannoneers 
banging and blazing right and left. Here comes his Excellency 
the Commander-in-Chief, with his huge feathers, and white hair, 
and hooked nose; and yonder sits his Excellency the Ambassa- 
dor from the republic ^f Topinambo in a glass coach, smoking 
a cigar. The honest Dublinites make a great deal of such 
small dignitaries as his Excellency of the glass coach ; you hear 
everybody talking of him, and asking which is he ; and when 
presently one of Sir Robert Peel's sons makes his appearance 
on the course, the public rush delighted to look* at him. 

They love great folks, those honest Emerald Islanders, more 
intensely than any people I ever heard of, except the Americans. 
Tljey still cherish the memory of the sacred George IV. They 
chronicle genteel small beer with never failing assiduity. They 
go in long trains to a sham court — simpering in tights and bags, 
with swords between their legs. O heaven and earth, what joy ! 
Why are the Irish noblemen absentees ? If their lordships 
like respect, where would they get it so well as in their own 
country ? 

The Irish noblemen are very likely going through the same 
delightful routine of duty before their real sovereign — in reaf 
tights and bag-wigs, as it were, performing their graceful and 
lofty duties, and celebrating the august service of .the thione. 
These, of course, the truly loyal heart can only respect : and I 
think a, drawing-room at St. James's the grandest spectacle that 
ever feasted the eye or exercised the intellect. The crown, sur- 
rounded by its knights and nobles, its priests, its sages, and 



582 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 1 

their respective ladies; illustrious foreigners, men learned in 
the law, heroes of land and sea, beef-eaters, goldsticks, gentle- 
men at arms, rallying round the throne and defending it with 
those swords which never knew defeat (and would surely, if 
tried, secure victory) : these are sights and characters which i 
every man must look upon with a thrill of respectful awe, and 
count amongst the glories of his country. What lady that sees 
this will- not confess that she reads everyone of the drawing- 
room costumes, from Majesty down to Miss Ann Maria Smith \ 
and all the names of the presentations, from Prince Baccabock- 
sky (by the Russian ambassador) to Ensign Stubbs on his 
appointment ? 

We are bound to read these accounts. It is our pride, our 
duty as J)ritons. But though one may honor the respect of 
the aristocracy of the land for the sovereign, yet there is no 
reason why those who are not of the aristocracy should be 
aping their betters : and the Dublin Castle business has, I 
cannot but think, d very high-life-below-stairs look. There is 
no aristocracy in Dublin. Its magnates are tradesman — Sir 
Fiat Haustus, Sir Blacker Dosy, Mr. Sergeant ^luebag, or Mr. 
CounselI(fr O'Fee. Brass plates are their titles of honor, and 
they live by their boluses or their briefs. What call have 
these worthy people to be dangling and grinning at lord-lieuten- 
ants' leve'es, and playing sham aristocracy before a sham sover- 
eign t Oh, that old humbug of a Castle ! It is the greatest . 
sham of all the shams in Ireland. 

'^ Although th'e season may be said to have begun, for the 
Courts are opened, and the noblesse de la robe have assembled, 
I do not think the genteel quarters of the town look much more 
cheerful. They still, for the most 'part, wear their faded ap- 
pearance and lean, half-pay look. There is the beggar still 
tlawdling here and there. Sounds of carriages or footmen do 
not deaden the clink of the burly policeman's boot-heels. You 
may see, possibly, a smutty-faced nursemaid leading out her 
little charges to walk; or the observer may catch a glimpse ot 
Mick the footman lolling at the door, and grinning as he talks 

^to some dubious tradesman. Mick and John are very differ- 
ent characters externally and inwardly ; — profound essays (in- 
volving the histories of the two countries for a thousand years) 
might be Avritten regarding Mick and John, and the moral and 
poHtical influences which have developed the flunkeys of the 
two nations. The friend too, with whom Mick talks at the 
door is a puzzle to a Londoner. I have hardly ever entered a 
Dublin house without meeting with some such character on my 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 583 

way in or out. He looks too sliabby for a dun, and not ex- 
actly ragged enough for a beggar — a doubtful, lazy, dirty family 
vassal — a guerilla footman. I think it is he who makes 
a great noise, and whispering, and clattering, handing in the 
dishes to Mick from outside of the dining-room door. When 
an Irishman comes to London he brings Erin with him ; and 
ten to one you will find one of these queer retainers about his 
place. ' 

London one can only take leave of by degrees : the great 
town melts away into suburbs, which soften, as it were, the 
parting between the Cockney and his darling birthplace. But 
you pass from some of the stately fine. Dublin streets straight 
into the country. After No. 46 Eccles Street, for instance, 
potatoes begin at once. You are on a wide green plain, di- 
versified by occasional cabbage-plots, by drying-grounds white- 
with chemises, in the midst of which the chartered wind is 
revelling ; and though in the map some fanciful engineer has 
laid down streets and squares, they exist but on paper ; nor, 
indeed, can there be any need of them at present, in a quarter 
where houses are not wanted so much as people to dwell in the 
same. 

If the genteel portions of the town look to the full as mel- 
ancholy as they did, the downright poverty ceases, I fear, to 
make so strong an impression as it made four months ago. 
Going over the same ground again, places appear to have quite 
a different aspect ; and, with their strangeness, poverty and 
misery bave lost much of their terror. The people, though 
dirtier and more ragged, seemed certainly happier than those in 
London. 

Near to the King's Court, for instance (a noble building, as 
are almost all the public edifices of the tity), is a straggling 
green suburb, containing numberless little shabby, patched, 
broken-windowed huts, with rickety gardens dotted with rags 
that have been washed, and children that have not ; and 
thronged with all sorts of ragged inhabitants. Near to the 
suburb in the town, is a dingy old mysterious district, called 
Stoneybatter, wher« some houses have been allowed to reach 
an old age, extraordinary in this country of premature ruin, 
and look as if they had been built some six score years since. 
In these and the neighboring tenements, not so old but equally 
ruinous' and mouldy, there is a sort of vermin swarm -of hu- 
manity ; dirty faces at all the dirty windows ; children on all 
the broken steps ; smutty slipshod women clacking and bustling 
about, and old men dawdling. Weil, only paint and prop the 



^84 ^-^-^ IRISH SKRTCII BOOK, 

tumbling gates and huts in the suburb, and fancy the Stoney- 
batterites clean, and you woufd have rather a gay and agreeable 
picture of human life — of workpeople and their families repos-- 
ing after their labors. They are all happy, and sober, and kind- 
hearted, — they seem kind, and play with the children — the 
young women having a gay good-natured joke for the passer- 
by ; the old seemingly contented, and buzzing to one another. 
It is only the costume, as it were, that has frightened .the 
stranger, and made him fancy that people so ragged must be 
unhappy. Observation grows used to the rags as much as the 
people do, and i^y impression of the. walk through this district, 
on a sunshiny, clear, autumn evening, is that of a fete. I am 
almost ashamed it should be so. 

Near to Stoneybatter lies a group of huge gloomy edifices 
— an hospital, a penitentiary, a mad-house, and a poor-house. 
I visited the latter of these, the North Dublin Union-house, an 
enormous establishment, which accommodates two thousand 
beggars. Like all the public institutions of the country, it seems 
to be well conducted, and is a vast, orderly, and cleanly place, 
wherein the prisoners are better clothed, better fed, better housed 
than tli^y can hope to be when at liberty. We were taken into 
all the wards in due order :' the schools and nijrsery for the 
children ; the dining-rooms, day-rooms, &c., of the men and 
women. Each division is so accommodated, as also with a 
large court or ground to walk and exercise in. «.. 

Among the men, there are very few able-bodied ; the most 
of them, the keeper said, having gone out for the harvest-time, 
or as soon as the potatoes came in. If they go out, they can- 
not return before the expiration of a month : the guardians 
have been obliged to establish this prohibition, lest the persons 
requiring relief shook! go in and out too frequently. The old 
men were assembled in considerable numbers in a long day- 
room that is comfortable and warm. Some of them were 
picking oakum by way of employment, but most of them were 
past work ; all such inmates of the house as are able-bodied 
being occupied upon the premises. Their hall was airy and as 
clean as brush and water could mak it . th^men equally clean, 
and their gray jackets and Scotch caps stout and warm. 
Thence we were led, with a sort of satisfaction, by th6 guar- 
dian, to the kitchen — a large room, ^t the end of which might 
be seeji certain coppers, emitting, it must owned, a very faint 
inhospitable smell. It was on Friclay, and rice-milk is the 
food on that day, each man being served with a pint-canful, of 
which cans a great number stood smoking upon stretchers — - 



THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK. 



585 



the platters were laid, each with its portion of salt in the large 
clean dining-room hard by. "Look at that rice," said the 
keeper, taking up a bit ; "try it, sir, it's delicious." I'm sure 
"I hope it is. 

- The old women's room was crowded with, I shouM think, 
at least four hundred old ladies — neat and nice, in white clothes 
and caps — sitting demurely on benches, doing nothing for the 
most part ; but some employed, like the old men, in fiddling 
with the oakum. "There's tobacco here," says the guardian, 
in a loud voice; "who's smoking tobacco?" " Fait, and I 
wish dere was some tabaccy here," says one old lady, "and my 
service to you, Mr. Leary, and I hope one of the gentlemen 
has a snuflf-box, and a pinch for a poor old woman." But we 
had no boxes ; and if any person who reads this visit, goes to 
a poor-house or lunatic asylum, let him carry a box, if for that 
day only — a pinch is like Dives's drop of water to those poor 
limboed souls. Some of the poor old creatures began to stand 
up as we came in — I can't say how painful such an ■ honor 
seemed to me. 

There was a separate room for the able-bodied females ; 
and the place and courts were full of stout, red-cheeked, bounc- 
ing women. If the old ladies looked respectable, I cannot 
say the young ones were particularly good-looking ; there were 
some Hogarthian faces amongst them — ^sly, leering, and hide- 
ous. I fancied I could see only too well what these girls had 
been. Is it charitable or not to hope that such bad faces could 
only belong to bad women .? 

" Here, sir, is the nursery," said the guide, flinging open the 
door of a long' room. There may have been eighty babies in 
it, with as many nurses and mothers. Close to the door sat 
one with as beautiful a face as I almost ever saw : she had at 
her breast a ver}' sickly and puny child, and looked up, as we 
entered, with a pair of angelical eyes, and a face that Mr. 
Eastlake could paint — a face that had been angelical that is ; 
for there was the snow stiil, as it were, but with, the footmark 
on it. I asked her how old she was — she did not know. She 
could not have been more than fifteen yeiirs, the poor child. 
She said she had been a servant — and there was no need of ask- 
ing anything more about her story. I saw her grinning at one of 
her comrades as we went out of the room ; her face did not look 
angelical then. Ah, young master or old, young or old villain, 
who did this ! — have you not enough wickedness of your own 
to answerr for, that you must take another's sins upon your 
shoulders ; and be this wretched child's sponsor in crime ? * ♦ 



^S6 THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, 

But this chapter must be made as short as possible : and 
so I will not say how much prouder Mr. Leary, the keeper, was 
of his fat pigs than of his paupers — how he pointed us out the 
burial-ground of the family of the poor — their coffins were 
quite visible through the niggardly mould ; ^nd the children 
might peep at their fathers over the burial-ground-play-ground- 
wall — nor how we went to see the Linen Hall of Dublin — that 
huge, useless, lonely, decayed place, in the vast windy solitudes 
of which stands the simpering statue of George IV., pointing 
to some bales of shirting, over which he is supposing to ex- 
tend his august protection. * 

The cheers of the rabble hailing the new Lord Mayor were 
the last sounds that I heard in Dublin : and I quitted the kind 
friends I had made there with the sincerest regret. As for 
forming "an opinion of Ireland," such as is occasionally asked 
from a traveller on his return — that is as difficult an opinion 
to form as to express ; and the puzzle which has perplexed the 
gravest and wisest, may be confessed by a humble writer of 
light literature, whose aim it only was to look at the manners 
and the scenery of the country, and who does not venture to 
meddle with questions of more serious import. 

To have "an opinion about Ireland," one must begin by 
getting at the truth ; and where is it to be had in the country? 
Or rather, there are two truths, the Catholic truth and the 
Protestant truth. The two parties do not see things with the 
same eyes. I recollect, for instance, a Catholic gentleman 
telling me that the Primate had forty-three thousand Jive hun- 
dred a year ; a Protestant clergyman gave me, chapter and 
verse, the history of a shameful perjury and malversation of 
money on the part of a Catholic priest ; nor was one tale more 
true than the other. But belief is made a party business ; and 
the receiving of the archbishop's income would probably not 
convince the Catholic, any more than the clearest evidence to 
the contrary altered the Protestant's opinion. Ask about an 
estate : you may be sure almost that people will make mis- 
statements, or volunteer them if not asked. As a cottager 
about his rent, or his landlord : you cannot trust him. I shall 
never forget the glee with which a gentleman in Munste-r told 
me how he had sent olf MM. Tocquevilleand Beaumont ■" with 
such a set of stories.'.'. Inglis was seized, as I am told, and 
mystified in the same ^ay. In the midst of all these truths, 
attested with " I give ye my sacred honor and word," which is 
the stranger to select .'' And how are we to trust philosophers 
who make theories upon such data ? 



rilE IRISH SKETCH BOaK. 



s^l 



Meanwhile it is satisfactory to know, upon testimony so 
general as to be equivalent almost to fact, that wretched as ir 
is, the country is steadily advancing, nor nearly so wretched 
now as it was a score of years since ; and let us hope that the 
middle class, which this increase of prosperity must generate 
(and of which our laws have hitherto forbidden the existence 
in Ireland, making there a population of Protestant aristgcracy 
and Catholic peasantry), will exercise the greatest and most 
beneficial intiuence over country. Too independent to be 
bullied by priest or squij-e — having their interest in quiet, and 
alike indisposed to servility or to rebellion ; may not as much 
be hoped from the gradual formation of such a class, as froni 
any legislative meddling ? It is the want of the middle class 
that has rendered the squire so arrogant, and the clerical or 
political demagogue so powerful ; and I think Mr. O'Connell 
himself would say that the existence of such a body would do 
more for the steady acquirement of orderly freedom, than the 
occasional outbreak of any crowd, influenced by any eloquence 
from altar or tribune. 



3477-2 



